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DOWN  IN  WATER  STREET 


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JDown  in  Water  Street, 


A  Story  of  Sixteen  Years  Life 
and  Work  in  Water  Street  Mission 
A  Sequel  to  the  Life  of  Jerry  McAuley 


By 
SAMUEL  H.  HADLEY 

of  the  Old  Jerry  McAuley  Mission 


MEMORIAL  EDITION 
With  a  Personal  Tribute  by  J.  Wilbur  Chapman 


New  York       Chicago       Toronto 
Fleming  H.  Revell  Company 

London        and       Edinburgh 


/^ 


Copyright,  1902-1906,  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  80  Wabash  Avenue 
Toronto:  27  Richmond  Street,  W. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:     too    Princes    Street 


To  Her 

who  loved  me  and  stood  by  me 

vfben  I  toas  a  helpless  drunkardf 

fobo  stands  by  me  noto  in  Christian  work, 

my  beloved  and  faithful  wife, 

this  volume  is 

affectionately  dedicated 


MEMORIAL  EDITION 

Three  and  a  half  years  only  had  elapsed  since  the 
first  edition  of  Down  in  Water  Street  appeared, 
when  on  February  9,  1906,  the  author  was  suddenly 
called  to  his  coronation.  The  funeral  services  were 
exceptionally  impressive  as  they  were  unusual,  the 
honorary  pallbearers  including  men  of  greatest  promi- 
nence in  the  commercial  and  civic  life  of  New  York 
city.  The  audience  comprised  the  greatest  contrasts 
in  social  life.  Redeemed  men  were  there  in  great 
number,  but  there  were  also  many  slaves  of  an  as  yet 
unconquered  appetite  who  had  often  listened  to  Mr. 
Hadley's  appeals  and  now  felt  that  their  one  untiring 
friend  had  gone. 

Some  years  before  Mr.  Hadley's  death  he  had  espe- 
cially requested  that  in  the  event  of  his  being  called 
away  first,  the  Rev.  J.  Wilbur  Chapman  should  speak 
at  his  funeral  services.  It  is  therefore  most  fitting 
that  Dr.  Chapman's  remarks  should  be  added  to  this 
new  edition  (the  twelfth)  as  an  appropriate  close  to  a 
volume  which  in  a  very  true  sense  is  the  author's 
autobiography.  Dr.  Chapman's  tender  tribute  will  be 
found  at  page  239. 


INTRODUCTIONS 

J.  WILBUR  CHAPMAN 

TRAVELLING  across  the  country  a  few 
weeks  ago  I  had  the  great  pleasure  given 
to  me  by  the  author  of  this  book  of 
reading  in  manuscript  the  thoughts  which  are 
here  presented,  and  I  count  it  not  only  a  pleas- 
ure to  have  read  what  I  am  sure  will  be  inspir- 
ing to  Christian  people  everywhere,  but  a  very 
great  privilege  to  write  this  word  of  introduc- 
tion, and  for  the  following  reasons : 

First  of  all  because  I  have  known  the  author 
most  intimately  for  thirteen  years.  I  have 
studied  him  in  his  work,  been  closely  asso- 
ciated with  him  in  his  social  life  and  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying  that  I  am  quite  sure  it 
would  be  difficult  to  find  one  who  has  more  of 
the  spirit  of  Christ  in  his  words  and  work  than 
the  Superintendent  of  the  Water  Street  Mis- 
sion. 

Secondly,  because  I  have  known  in  some 
cases  intimately,  and  in  every  case  I  believe 
I 


2  Introductions 

with  more  or  less  of  intimacy,  each  one  whose 
name  is  mentioned  on  the  pages  of  this  book. 
They  are  miracles  of  grace  indeed.  I  have  heard 
them  testify  and  seen  them  live,  and  it  would 
be  difficult  for  one  to  have  sufficient  command 
of  language  to  give  to  the  public  any  conception 
of  the  marvellous  work  of  God  which  has  been 
wrought  in  their  lives.  If  to  read  this  story 
is  interesting,  as  I  am  sure  it  will  be,  what  shall 
I  say  of  the  privilege  of  hearing  these  men 
speak  who  have  been  redeemed  from  such  great 
depths  of  iniquity  and  so  wonderfully  kept, 
many  of  them  in  places  of  temptation  and 
sorest  trial. 

Dr.  Arthur  T.  Pierson  once  said,  "If  you 
would  like  to  feel  as  if  you  were  reading  a  new 
chapter  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  it  would  be 
well  for  you  to  visit  the  old  Jerry  McAuley 
Water  Street  Mission,"  and  to  this  sentiment 
expressed  by  this  great  Bible  teacher  I  breathe 
a  hearty  amen.  I  do  not  believe  it  is  sacrile- 
gious for  me  to  say  that  if  Jesus  were  here  upon 
earth  in  the  flesh,  he  would  do  first  the  work 
which  the  Superintendent  of  this  Mission  and  his 
co-labourers  are  striving  to  do  with  such  emi- 
nent success,  for  the  outcast  and  down-trodden 
members  of  society.    Neither  can  I  be  misim- 


Introductions  3 

derstood  when  I  say  that  if  Jesus  were  here  I 
could  quite  imagine  him  walking  the  streets  of 
New  York  by  day  and  by  night  going  down  into 
subcellars  and  climbing  rickety  stairs  into  high 
attics,  making  his  way  into  dens  of  iniquity  and 
reaching  down  into  the  depths  to  save  the  lost, 
much  as  S.  H.  Hadley  goes  about  our  city 
streets  not  only  but  into  every  other  city  where 
time  and  opportunity  are  given  to  him  to 
labour. 

It  has  been  my  privilege  to  know  many  true 
men  of  God,  but  without  any  hesitation  I  can 
say  in  this  introductory  note,  that  of  all  the 
men  I  have  known  no  one  has  ever  moved  me 
more  strangely  and  inspired  me  more  truly 
with  the  spirit  of  the  Master  whom  he  serves 
than  S.  H.  Hadley,  the  author  of  this  book. 
May  God's  best  blessing  speed  his  message  to  a 
countless  number  of  souls. 

J.  Wilbur  Chapman. 

Fourth  Presbyterian  Church, 
New  York, 


Introductions 


JOHN  WESLEY  JOHNSTON 

A  BOOK  written  by  the  Superintendent  of 
the  Jerry  McAuley  Mission  in  Water 
street,  needs  no  introduction  from  me; 
for  the  fame  of  this  mission  is  world-wide,  and 
its  honoured  and  successful  Superintendent  is 
known  to  all  Christian  people.  But  as  it  has 
been  my  great  privilege  to  attend  many  of  the 
meetings  in  the  McAuley  Mission,  and  to  know 
by  direct  personal  acquaintance,  a  number  of 
those  whom  it  has  rescued  from  drunkenness 
and  degradation,  perhaps  I  may  be  permitted 
to  add  a  word  by  way  of  simple  testimony. 

Soon  after  my  coming  to  New  York  in  1888 
to  assume  the  pastorate  of  the  Sixty-first  Street 
Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  Mr.  Hadley,  and  the  Mission  on 
Water  street.  When  in  St.  John's,  Brooklyn, 
I  enjoyed  visiting  the  Mission,  and  took  occa- 
sion in  every  possible  way  to  commend  it  to 
Christians  of  all  denominations.  But  since 
coming  to  "  Old  John  Street,"  and  finding  in 
that  church,  among  the  most  honoured  and  re- 
liable in  its  membership,  converts  from  Water 
Street,  and  hearing  from  their  lips  stories  of  re- 


Introductions  ^ 

deeming  grace  similar  to  many  in  this  book, 
my  interest  in  the  Jerry  McAuley  Mission  has 
so  deepened  that  it  is  only  second  to  that  I  have 
for  the  church  of  which  I  am  now  Pastor. 

Most  cordially  do  I  commend  this  'book  and 
pray  for  it  the  largest  possible  circulation.  I 
have  read  it  with  profound  interest.  It  has 
stirred  my  soul  most  strangely.  Many  times 
in  the  reading  I  have  been  moved  to  tears  and 
then  again  my  heart  has  throbbed  in  praise  and 
thankfulness.  The  simple,  artless  way  in 
which  these  incidents  are  told,  gives  to  the 
book  one  of  its  highest  charms,  and  yet  adds 
all  the  more  to  its  effectiveness.  There  is  no 
attempt  at  the  dramatic  or  the  tragic,  yet  both 
are  here;  just  as  there  are  touches  of  fine  hu- 
mour and  delicate  pathos.  May  God  bless  this 
book !  And  may  He  bless  its  writer  and  spare 
him  for  many  years  to  the  work  which  he  is 
conducting  with  such  success! 

J.  Wesley  Johnston. 

Old  John  Street  Methodist  Episcopal  Church, 
New  York, 


6         Introduction  to  British  Readers 

BY   REV.    F.    B.    MEYER 

HERE  is  a  book  after  my  heart !  It  has 
stirred  me  as  much  as  "Westward 
Ho  I  **  used  to  do  years  ago,  when  one 
longed  to  be  one  of  those  who  discovered  the 
New  World.  But  here  is  a  new  world  close 
to  our  doors ;  and  I  shall  be  surprised  if  this 
book  does  not  set  twenty  devoted  servants 
doing  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  the  same 
kind  of  work  as  my  dear  friend,  S.  H. 
Hadley,  is  doing  in  Water  Street,  New  York. 
It  is  unusual  for  me  to  visit  the  United 
States  without  finding  my  way  to  this  sacred 
spot;  hallowed  of  the  thousands  of  souls,  who 
have  there  been  rescued  from  almost  inde- 
scribable depths  of  sin.  To  me  it  is  a  Cathe- 
dral, whose  Consecration  has  been  spoken 
of  the  lips  of  the  Chief  Shepherd  and  Bishop 
of  souls ;  whose  music  is  yielded  by  lips 
which  are  filled  with  the  praise  of  their 
Deliverer,  and  whose  memorial  tablets  are 
not  those  which  tell  of  Senators,  Knights  or 
Orators  who  have  died,  but  of  servants  of 
Satan  who  have  suddenly  been  changed  into 


Introduction  to  British  Readers        7 

true  Soldiers  of  the  Cross,  their  lives  telling 
of  the  marvels  of  redeeming  grace.  Blessed 
spot,  as  I  have  visited  there  before,  I  hope  to 
visit  there  again,  always  to  derive  new  inspi- 
ration and  blessing  to  my  soul,  and  new  faith 
in  the  Gospel, 

Let  those  who  say  that  the  Gospel  is 
played  out  read  this  book.  It  abounds  with 
the  most  extraordinary  and  thrilling  narra- 
tives— not  the  least  being  those  of  the 
founder,  Jerry  McAuley,  and  of  Mr.  Hadley 
himself.  These  pages  tell  marvels  of  Love — 
Divine  and  Human.  Only  love  could  stand 
the  strain ;  only  the  love  of  God  in  Jesus 
Christ  could  win  such  triumphs. 

May  the  book  have  a  wide  circulation  in 
England,  and  lead  many  to  go  and  do  like- 
wise ;  and  if  only  I  could  get  all  this  preach- 
ing, journeying,  and  authorship  done,  I  could 
not  wish  anything  better  for  myself  than  to 
have  a  chance  of  winning  a  litde  of  that 
blessing  which  such  work  as  this  must  win 
from  our  Master. 

F.  B.  Meyer. 
London^  January,  igoj. 


PREFACE 

IN  setting  forth  the  following  pages,  I  must 
confess  to  a  sense  of  fear  and  weakness,  for 

I  am  fully  aware  of  the  radical  character  of 
the  book,  and  also  of  the  suspicion  and  doubt 
with  which  it  will  be  read  by  many.  But  I 
have  made  no  statement  which  cannot  be  veri- 
fied. It  is  all  about  hideous,  ravaging,  soul- 
destroying  'sin,  also  of  the  power  of  God  to 
destroy  sin.  Some  may  say :  "  How  is  it  that 
such  monstrous  cases  come  to  Water  street,  and 
after  being  redeemed  make  such  remarkable 
soul  winners  ?  "  Well,  sin  is  the  only  thing 
which  separates  man  from  God;  yet  had  we 
not  sinned,  the  Lamb  of  God  would  never  have 
come  into  this  world  to  save  us  from  our  sins. 
By  Him  we  have  access  to  the  Father. 

I  wish  I  could  persuade  godly  men  who  read 
this  book  to  help  rescue  work  along !  It  is  the 
connecting  link  between  the  lost,  godless  world 
and  the  Church  of  Christ.  There  are  thousands 
of  splendid  men  and  women  to-day  in  the 
saloons  of  New  York  alone,  who  are  only  wait- 
9 


10  Preface 

ing  for  some  kind,  friendly  hand  and  heart  to 
help  them  out  into  God's  sunshine,  and  who 
would  make  their  mark,  and  would  make  better 
soul  winners  for  the  awful  lesson  they  have 
learned.  The  writer  does  not  advocate  this 
schooling,  however,  as  a  part  of  a  theological 
training,  but  God  can  take  the  base  things  of 
the  world,  and  the  things  which  are  despised — 
yea,  and  the  things  which  are  not,  to  bring  to 
naught  the  things  that  are. 

It  is  the  purpose  of  the  writer,  after  having 
worked  among  the  drunkards  and  criminal 
classes  for  sixteen  years  in  the  famous  old  Mc- 
Auley  Mission  of  Water  Street,  to  place  before 
the  world  some  of  his  experiences,  with  the 
view  of  encouraging  those  who  are  engaged  in 
similar  work  and  others  who  have  the  burden 
of  this  lost  and  dying  world  upon  their  souls. 
A  great  history  might  be  written  of  the  happen- 
ings in  this  work  during  these  sixteen  years, 
but  a  detailed  account  is  impossible.  We  want 
to  show,  however,  how  some  success  has  been 
achieved,  and  also  mention  some  of  our  de- 
feats; for  we  found  long  years  ago  that  we 
often  learn  more  in  defeat  than  in  victory. 

I  have  not  written  much  about  rescuing 
women :  it  is  too  large  a  subject  to  bring  into 


Preface  1 1 

this  book.  We  have  been  most  marvellously 
blessed,  however,  in  saving  lost  women.  I 
have  seen  many  such  raised  from  the  very  pit 
by  the  touch  of  Jesus  and  made  glorious 
women,  beautiful,  sweet  characters  till  the  day 
of  their  death.  My  experience  in  this  work  is 
that  a  woman  falls  through  love  nine  times  out 
of  ten,  and  she  must  be  reached  by  love  if  she 
is  ever  restored.  How  many  times  my  heart 
has  bled  when  I  have  tried  to  aid  some  high- 
strung,  sensitive  young  girl  to  a  place  of  safety. 
I  pray  God  that  those  who  read  this  book 
may  realize  that  thousands  of  bright  jewels — 
men  and  women — are  lying  to-day  in  the  slime 
of  the  saloons,  simply  waiting  for  loving  hands 
and  hearts  to  gather  them  in.  Who  will  re- 
spond to  this  call  from  Him,  Who  "  came  to 
seek  and  to  save  that  which  was  lost?  " 

Samuel  Hopkins  Hadley. 


CONTENTS 


Introductions 

Preface        

I.  Jerry  McAuley  . 
II.  The  First  Rescue  Mission 

III.  My  Call  to  Water  Street 

IV.  My  Life  Story    . 
V.  Meeting  Jesus     . 

VI.  Bringing  My  Brother  to  Jesus 
VII.  Love  the  Drawing  Power  . 
VIII.  The  Devil's  Castaways    . 
IX.  The  Refuge  of  Crooks     . 
X.  Old  Uncle  Reus. 
XL  Old  Pop  Lloyd  . 
XII.  Bowery  Ike's  Career  . 

XIII.  Billy  Kelly,  the  Ex-barkeeper 

XIV.  John  Jaeger,  the  Anarchist    . 
XV.  Woman's  Love  and  Faithfulness 

13 


page 

7 

13 

19 

39 

SI 

59 

75 

85 

99 

"3 

125 

135 

143 

149 

161 

171 

177 


H 


Contents 


XVI.  John  M.  Wood,  the  Drunken  Sailor 
XVII.  Underwood,  Newman  and  Roberts 
XVIII.  A  Plea  for  the  Drunkard  . 
XIX.  My  Brother 
XX,  A  Glimpse  of  the  Work 


A  Personal  Tribute  by  Rev.  J.  Wilbur 
man,  D.  D.       . 

Certificate  of  Incorporation 

Form  of  Bequest     .... 


Chap- 


page 
185 

191 

199 

207 

225 

239 
251 

255 


List  of  Illustrations 


Samuel  Hopkins  Hadley 


FACING 
PAGE 

.   TitU 


On  the  Bowery 

19 

For  the  Son  of  man  is  come  to  seek  and  to  save  that 

which  was  lost.    St.  Luke  19 :  10. 

Jerry  McAuley 32 

Mrs.  Bradford  L.  Gilbert  . 

42 

Mrs.  E.  M.  Whittcmore   . 

44 

James  C.  Edwards    . 

54 

Mrs.  James  C.  Edwards     .          j 

54 

Interior  of  Mission    . 

76 

A  Group  of  Forty-six  Redeemed  Ones 

90 

Mrs.  S.  H.  Hadley 

.      94 

The  Old  Colonel      . 

.     108 

The  New  Colonel    . 

108 

Philip  McGuire 

130 

J.  D.  Underwood     . 

138 

Uncle  Rube  Johnston 

138 

Rummy           .         .         .         .         , 

146 

Old  Pop  Lloyd 

146 

Ira  B.  Snyder 

*54 

Mr.  Walter  M.  Smith       . 

156 

'      15 

i6 


List  of  Illustrations 


John  Jaeger 

John  R.  McConica  . 

FACING 
PAGE 

172 
180 

John  M.  Wood 

186 

Billy  Kelly       . 
C.  W.  Roberts 

186 
194 

Henry  C.  Newman 
Col.  H.  H.  Hadley 
Mrs.  Lida  M.  Lament 

194 
218 
226 

Mrs.  Sarah  Sherwood 

226 

John  H.  Wyburn 

J.  S.  Huyler    . 

Waiting  for  a  Christmas  D 

inner           , 

•   234 

238 

.  252 

JERRY  McAULEY 


ON    THE    BOWERY. 
"  For  the   Son   of   Man   Is   Mine   to  seek   and   g»Te   that   which* 
was  lost." — St.  Luke,  19.  IC 


Down  in  Water  Street 


JERRY  MCAULEY 

^^"^  JTADAM,  do  you  know  Jesus?" 

This  brief  conversation  on  a  stair- 
way on  Cherry  Hill  in  the  Fourth  Ward  of 
New  York  in  1868  disturbed  the  drunken  slum- 
bers of  Jerry  McAuley,  who  lay  on  the  floor  of 
his  room  a  few  feet  away,  trying  to  sleep  off 
a  debauch.  The  first  question  was  asked  by  a 
missionary,  and  the  second  by  a  belligerent 
iwoman  of  ample  proportions,  who  barred  his 
way. 

When  Jerry  heard  the  salutation  of  the  mis- 
sionary— "  Madam,  do  you  know  Jesus  ?  "  he 
began  to  pull  himself  up  from  the  floor.  No 
one  ever  knows  what  that  name  will  do,  and 
whose  heart  it  will  pierce,  when  mentioned  in 
love.    Jesus !    Jesus ! 

Jerry  was  a  hard  looking  sight.  He  has 
19 


20  Down  In  Water  Street 

often  told  the  writer  how  he  had  an  old  hat  on 
that  looked  as  if  it  had  come  out  of  a  tar-pot, 
a  rag-ged  pair  of  trousers  stuck  in  the  tops  of 
his  boots,  a  tattered  red  shirt,  and,  to  finish  the 
outfit,  a  murderous-looking  face.  As  he  came 
out  on  the  landing,  the  missionary  was  afraid 
of  him,  and  ran  down  stairs.  Jerry  followed 
him,  and  walking  toward  him,  said : 

"What  was  that  you  said  to  that  woman? 
Whose  name  was  that  you  mentioned  ?  I  used 
to  love  that  name  once,  but  I've  lost  it; "  and 
then  he  began  to  cry.  The  man  saw  that  some- 
thing had  touched  his  heart,  and  he  took  him 
to  the  Home  for  Little  Wanderers  on  New 
Bowery,  and  had  him  sign  the  pledge.  That 
was  about  as  far  as  rescue  work  had  advanced 
then.  We  think  in  Water  Street  that  a 
pledge  is  of  little  importance.  We  do  not  think 
that  a  bankrupt's  signature  amounts  to  much. 

Jerry  McAuley  was  born  in  Ireland  in  1837. 
He  immigrated  to  this  country  at  the  age  of 
thirteen  years,  and  was  brought  up  in  the 
Fourth  Ward  by  his  grandmother.  He  soon 
got  beyond  her  control  and  became  a  thief.  At 
the  age  of  nineteen,  he  was  sentenced  to  Sing 
Sing  prison  for  a  term  of  fifteen  years  and  six 
months. 


Jerry  McAuley  ai 

In  the  prison  chapel,  one  Sunday  morning, 
"Awful  Gardner,"  a  noted  prize-fighter,  an 
all-round  ruffian,  whom  Jerry  had  known  prior 
to  going  to  prison,  was  preaching.  Gardner 
had  been  converted  in  a  most  wonderful  man- 
ner, and  was  now  spending  his  life  telling  the 
story  of  Jesus  to  all  whom  he  could  get  to  listen 
to  him. 

On  a  front  bench,  beside  Jerry,  in  the  chapel 
that  morning,  sat  Phil.  McGuire,  who  for  some 
years  past  has  been  our  trusted  and  beloved 
janitor  and  co-worker,  of  whom  more  will  be 
spoken  hereafter. 

Jerry  looked  up  as  he  heard  Gardner's  voice, 
and  as  Gardner  went  on,  with  tears  streaming 
down  his  face,  telling  of  the  love  of  Jesus,  Jerry 
was  convicted  of  sin,  and  said :  *'  That  man 
is  honest." 

Gardner  told  them  that  if  he  had  his  deserts 
he  would  be  down  among  them  wearing  the 
"  stripes."  He  quoted  some  passage  of  Scrip- 
ture that  impressed  itself  on  Jerry,  and  when 
they  were  dismissed,  and  he  had  gone  back  to 
his  cell,  Jerry  looked  in  the  ventilator  and  found 
a  Bible.  Dusting  it  off,  he  tried  to  read,  but 
with  some  difficulty.  He  had  never  had  a 
Bible  in  his  hands  before,  and  he  looked  aim- 


aa  Down  in  Water  Street 

lessly  to  find  the  passage  that  Gardner  had 
quoted.  He  never  found  that  particular  verse, 
but  he  did  find  in  that  precious  Book  that  Jesus 
died  for  sinners,  and  the  Holy  Spirit  showed 
him  that  he  was  a  sinner. 

As  the  long  Sabbath  wore  away,  he  got  up 
and  paced  to  and  fro  in  the  narrow  limits  of  his 
cell,  and  finally  got  on  hiis  knees  and  began  to 
pray.  I  do  not  know  how  long  he  prayed,  but 
soon  the  light  of  Heaven  shone  in  his  darkened 
cell,  and  into  his  much  darker  heart,  and  the 
blessed  Saviour  appeared  and  told  him  that  his 
sins  were  forgiven. 

Jerry  could  never  be  made  to  believe  that  it 
was  not  the  light  of  Heaven  that  had  shone 
into  his  cell.     He  shouted  and  shouted, 

"I've  found  Jesus!  I've  found  Jesus!  O 
bless  the  Lord,  I've  found  Jesus ! "  The  un- 
usual sound  attracted  the  keeper,  and  he  threw 
the  rays  of  his  dark  lantern  on  Jerry  as  he  was 
praising  God  in  his  lowly  cell.  In  rough  tones 
he  shouted: 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you?  " 

"  I've  found  Jesus !  "  replied  Jerry. 

"  I'll  put  you  in  the  *  cooler '  in  the  morn- 
ing," the  keeper  said,  and  put  down  his  num- 
ber.   Jerry  said : 


Jerry  McAuley  23 

"  The  Lord  made  him  forget  it,  for  I  was 
never  put  in  the  cooler  for  it." 

This  was  Jerry  McAuley's  conversion.  He 
immediately  went  to  work  with  an  ardour  and 
courage  that  would  put  many  of  us  missionaries 
to  shame.  Under  the  rules  of  the  prison  at 
that  time,  very  little  opportunity  was  given  to 
speak  to  anyone.  Only  as  they  were  march- 
ing to  and  fro,  with  lockstep,  from  prison  to 
workshop,  from  workshop  to  meals,  and  then 
back  to  prison  again,  could  he  speak  to  the 
man  in  front  and  the  one  behind,  telling  the 
burning  news  that  was  filling  his  soul,  that  he 
had  found  Jesus,  that  his  sins  were  pardoned, 
and  how  happy  he  was  in  his  new-found  joy. 

At  the  table  he  was  able  to  speak  to  the  one 
on  his  right  hand,  and  the  one  on  his  left,  but 
even  with  this  limited  opportunity  a  wonder- 
ful revival  broke  out  in  the  prison  as  a  result 
of  Jerry's  labours. 

The  first  convert  that  God  gave  Jerry  was  a 
man  named  Jack  Dare,  who  had  led  in  a  revolt 
that  had  cost  many  lives,  and  who  had  been 
severely  punished.  When  he  came  out,  he 
looked  at  Jerry,  raised  his  eyes  toward  Heaven, 
and  pointed  upward.  There  was  such  a  look 
of  peace  and  joy  in  his  face  that  Jerry  knew 


24  Down  in  Water  Street 

he  too  had  met  Jesus,  and  it  made  him  su- 
premely happy. 

Missionaries  of  the  city  went  up,  and  every 
opportunity  was  given  them  by  the  manage- 
ment. Bible  classes  were  formed  of  the  con- 
verts, and  wonderful  work  was  done  for  God. 
Jerry  was  the  centre  of  all  this  activity.  It 
resulted  in  his  being  pardoned  by  Governor 
John  A.  Dix,  in  1864.  He  then  came  back  to 
the  Fourth  Ward.  No  friendly  hand  was  held 
out  then  as  now,  here  in  Water  street,  to  help 
the  ex-convict  back  to  an  honest  and  useful 
life. 

Jerry  fell.  He  took  a  room  over  a  saloon; 
in  fact,  there  were  few  other  places  where  one 
could  get  a  room,  and  some  one  offered  him  a 
glass  of  beer.  Beer  was  a  new  beverage  to 
Jerry,  as  it  was  placed  in  the  saloons  after 
Jerry  had  been  sent  away.     Some  one  said : 

"  Why,  Jerry,  a  glass  of  beer  won't  hurt 
you,"  just  so  they  will  say  to  you,  dear  reader. 
Jerry  took  the  fatal  glass,  and  fell. 

I  would  like  to  record  here  my  opinion  of 
lager  beer.  I  think  that  if  ever  there  was  a 
holiday  in  hell,  it  was  when  lager  beer  was  in- 
vented. Thousands  of  good,  honest  house- 
wives and  mothers  bringing  up  families,  doing 


Jerry  McAuley  25 

their  own  work,  weak  and  toil-worn,  can  be 
induced  to  take  a  glass  of  beer,  and  thereby 
become  habitual  drunkards;  and  yet  under  no 
conditions  whatever  would  they  take  a  glass  of 
whiskey  to  begin  with. 

The  mother  says  to  the  pretty,  fair-haired 
girl :  "  Mamie,  take  this  pail  and  go  to  the  cor- 
ner and  bring  mother  a  pint  of  beer." 

The  little  one,  anxious  to  please  her  mother, 
skips  down  stairs  with  the  tin  pail  and  goes  into 
the  corner  saloon.  It  is  some  time  before  she 
is  seen  by  the  barkeeper,  who  is  busy  talking  to 
the  many  loafers,  thieves  and  bums  that  infest 
the  place. 

There  she  hears  words  which  poison  her  ears 
forever.  After  awhile  he  takes  her  money — 
ten  cents  —  and  gives  her  a  pint  of  beer. 
Back  she  goes  to  mamma,  and,  as  this  is  re- 
peated often,  she  wonders  what  it  is  that 
mamma  likes  so  well,  and  she  begins  to  sip  this 
deadly  stuff. 

Years  afterwards,  when  her  body  is  pulled 
out  of  the  East  River,  it  is  recognized  as 
**  Mamie's,"  and  is  carried  dripping  to  her  des- 
olate home,  and  the  writer  goes  in  to  comfort 
the  mother. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hadley,"  said  she,  "  I  can't  im- 


26  Down  in  Water  Street 

agine  what  made  Mamie  go  wrong;  I  always 
tried  to  raise  her  right." 

I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  tell  her  it 
was  the  pail  of  beer  which  Mamie  had  to  bring 
so  often  for  her  mother  that  was  the  beginning 
of  her  downward  career. 

It  was  after  Jerry  fell  that  his  reputation  was 
made  as  a  criminal,  and  he  became  a  terror  to 
the  police  and  all  honest  people  in  the  Fourth 
Ward.  He  had  a  room  at  No.  17  Cherry  Hill, 
and  lived  there  with  Maria,  who  afterwards 
became  his  wife,  and  with  one  Tom  Wilson 
and  another  woman. 

Jerry  was  a  noted  river  thief  at  this  time,  and 
with  his  chum,  Tom  Wilson,  kept  a  boat  hid 
under  one  of  the  docks,  and  in  it  he  and  Tom 
would  make  excursions  on  the  East  River,  and 
while  one  would  stay  in  the  boat,  the  other 
would  climb  up  the  side  of  a  ship  anchored 
in  the  stream  and  steal  anything  he  could  lay 
his  hands  on. 

Jerry  McAuley,  like  the  Prodigal  Son,  came 
to  himself,  as  a  result  of  the  great  John  Allen 
excitement  of  1868.  John  Allen  was  one  of 
the  numerous  dive  keepers  in  Water  Street. 
He  had  an  infamous  dance  house  right  below 


Jerry  McAuley  27 

where  our  Mission  now  is,  where  the  old  barrel 
and  cooperage  house  is  located. 

In  that  day  the  churches  had  gone  up  town 
to  follow  their  members  who  had  grown  rich, 
and  had  left,  pretty  much  to  the  devil,  the  older 
and  humbler  part  of  the  city,  where  they  were 
bom  and  raised. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  three  missionaries 
were  passing  along  Water  Street  in  front  of 
Allen's  notorious  dance  house.  In  a  spirit  of 
drunken  fun  Allen  asked  the  women  to  come 
in  and  hold  a  prayer  meeting  in  his  saloon. 

The  devil  often  oversteps  himself,  and  he 
certainly  did  in  this  instance. 

The  missionaries  said  that  they  would  do  so 
if  Allen  would  close  the!  bar.  This  he  agreed 
to  do.  These  Christian  ladies  held  a  simple 
service  of  song,  prayer  and  testimony,  asking 
those  present  to  forsake  their  evil  ways. 

Allen  asked  the  visitors  to  come  the  follow- 
ing Sunday,  which  they  promised  to  do. 

He  then  went  to  "  The  New  York  Her- 
ald "  office  and  told  the  editor  that  he  had 
turned  his  dance  house  into  a  prayer  meeting. 
"  The  Herald  "  gave  this  statement  wide  pub- 
licity, and  on  the  next  Sunday  the  place  was 


ft8  Down  in  Water  Street 

packed,  and  the  street  also.  This  was  the  be- 
ginning of  the  great  historic  John  Allen  excite- 
ment. 

The  condition  of  things  in  this  neighbour- 
hood at  that  time  was  dreadful  beyond  de- 
scription ;  in  fact,  it  was  so  notorious  that  mer- 
chants and  visitors  from  a  distance  would  get 
carriages,  and  taking  a  detective  for  a  guide, 
ride  through  the  district  to  see  the  sights. 

Almost  every  door  led  to  a  dive  or  a  dance 
hall.  Sounds  of  revelry,  clinking  glasses, 
curses  and  fighting  would  issue  forth  until 
broad  daylight.  Kit  Burns's  rat  pit  was  just 
below  Dover  Street,  where  his  illustrious  son- 
in-law,  "  Jack  the  Rat,"  would  bite  the  head  off 
a  rat  before  an  audience  of  sightseers,  and  pass 
the  hat  for  a  collection. 

After  the  John  Allen  excitement  broke  out, 
some  missionaries  were  sent  down  here  by  Mrs. 
Robert  Hoe  to  distribute  tracts  and  to  see  if 
any  chance  for  Christian  work  presented  itself. 

While  a  missionary  named  Little  was  going 
up  the  stairway  at  No.  17  Cherry  Hill,  nearly 
in  the  rear  of  our  Mission,  his  passage  was  dis- 
puted by  a  woman,  and  in  self-defence  he  pre- 
sented her  with  a  tract,  asking  the  question 
with  which  this  chapter  begins: 


Jerry  McAuley  29 

"  Madam,  do  you  know  Jesus  ?  " 

After  Jerry  had  gone  to  the  Home  for  Lit- 
tle Wanderers  with  Mr.  Little,  and  signed  the 
pledge,  he  returned  to  his  rooms,  with  a  little 
picture  pledge  card  between  his  fingers,  and 
said  to  Tom  Wilson: 

"  I've  signed  the  pledge." 

"  Bully  for  you,"  said  Tom,  who  had  made  a 
raise  of  a  bottle  of  gin  since  Jerry  had  left; 
"  let's  take  a  drink  on  it." 

"  All  right,"  said  Jerry,  "  but  this  shall  be 
the  last." 

And  they  took  a  drink  over  the  pledge. 

Jerry  stayed  in  all  that  day  and  night, 
and  all  the  next  day  until  late  at  night,  when 
the  women  began  to  curse  him  and  told 
him  to  go  out  and  steal  something  to  buy 
whiskey  with,  and  Jerry  and  Tom  started  to  go 
to  the  river;  where  Roosevelt  Street  crosses 
Cherry  Hill,  they  met  the  missionary,  Mr. 
Little. 

It  was  a  rainy  and  uncomfortable  night. 
The  missionary  suspected  something  of  their 
errand.     He  said: 

"  Jerry,  where  are  you  going?  "    Jerry  said : 

"  I  can't  starve." 

"  Oh,  Jerry,"  said  he,  "  before  I'd  see  yoii 


30  Down  in  Water  Street 

steal  I'd  take  the  coat  off  my  back  and 
pawn  it." 

Jerry  looked  at  the  coat  and  saw  that  it 
would  not  bring  over  fifty  cents  at  the 
pawnshop,  and  said : 

"  If  you  love  me  that  way,  I'll  die  before  I'll 
steal." 

"  Jerry,"  said  the  missionary,  "  let  me  give 
you  a  text  of  Scripture :  '  Seek  ye  first  the 
kingdom  of  God  and  His  righteousness,  and 
all  these  things  shall  be  added.'  " 

Jerry  said:  "I'll  take  it;  "  and  turning  to 
Tom  he  said : 

"  Good-bye,  Tom;  from  now  on  our  roads 
lie  far  apart." 

Tom  said:  "You  blankety,  blank  fool;  do 
you  think  the  Lord  wi'l  send  you  down  a  beef- 
steak?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Jerry,  "  I  do,  and  if  He  don't, 
I'll  starve." 

The  first  time  Jerry  related  this  to  the  writer, 
we  were  sitting  at  his  table  in  the  Cremorne 
Mission  with  Maria,  his  beloved  wife.  Before 
us  was  a  savory  porterhouse  steak.  And  Jerry 
said,  significantly: 

"  He  has  sent  us  down  a  beefsteak,  hasn't 
he,  Brother  Hadley?" 


Jerry  McAuley  31 

Mr.  Little  was  making  his  home  at  that  time 
with  a  godly  couple,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Franklin 
Smith,  who  lived  in  Monroe  Street.  Mrs. 
Smith  was  a  missionary  for  Mrs.  Hoe.  They 
conceived  the  plan  of  taking  Jerry  down  to 
their  home,  and  did  so  the  day  after  the  con- 
versation above  mentioned.  In  due  time  they 
all  arrived,  and  after  the  supper  was  over,  Mrs. 
Smith  said :  "  Let's  have  a  little  prayer  meet- 
ing." They  sang  a  hymn,  read  a  chapter  out 
of  God's  Book,  and  knelt  down  to  pray.  Sister 
Smith  began  to  talk  to  the  Lord  about  the  im- 
mortal souls  around  her,  pleading  for  their  sal- 
vation. 

Jerry,  in  relating  the  incident  to  the  writer, 
said :  "  I  thought  my  knees  would  bust,  and  I 
looked  through  my  fingers  to  see  if  she  wasn't 
almost  ready  to  quit.  Her  pleading  face  was 
turned  to  Heaven,  tears  streaming  from  her 
eyes,  as  she  was  talking  to  Jesus  about  me,  and 
I  said :    *  Oh,  that  woman  loves  my  soul.'  '* 

What  happened  then  I  did  not  hear  from 
Jerry,  but  from  an  eye-witness,  Brdther  Smith. 
He  said : 

"There  was  a  shock  came  into  the  room, 
something  similar  to  a  flash  of  lightning,  which 
every  one  present  saw  and  felt." 


32  Down  in  Water  Street 

Jerry  fell  down  on  his  side  prone  on  the 
floor,  with  tears  streaming  from  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Jesus,  You  did  come  back ;  You  did 
come  back !     Bless  your  dear  name !  " 

Jerry's  companions  were  so  frightened  by 
what  they  saw  that  they  sprang  from  their 
knees,  ran  out  of  the  house  and  fled  down  the 
street. 

Jerry  fell  again  and  again,  five  times  within 
the  next  eight  months,  and  got  fighting  drunk. 
Many  of  our  uptown  church  brdthren,  if  their 
missionary  or  pastor  were  to  pick  up  a  drunken 
loafer,  who  would  get  drunk  and  come  in  and 
try  to  whip  the  pastor  four  or  five  times  within 
the  first  year,  would  get  discouraged  and  say: 

"  I  do  wish  our  pastor  would  not  spend  his 
time  on  such  fellows." 

However  some  friends  were  faithful  to  Jerry; 
among  them  was  Mr.  A.  S.  Hatch,  at  that 
time  one  of  the  most  prominent  bankers  in 
Wall  Street,  and  to  whom  more  than  to  any 
other  one  man  should  credit  be  given  for  the 
success  of  the  glorious  work  of  Jerry  McAuley. 
Mr.  Hatch  stood  by  him  through  thick  and 
thin.  Jerry,  like  all  other  ex-convicts  who 
Start  for  Heaven,  found  it  hard  to  obtain  em- 


JERRY    McAULEY. 


Jerry  McAulcy  33 

ployment.  At  one  time  he  obtained  a  position 
to  help  build  a  ferry  slip  at  Catherine  Street. 
The  contractor,  who  was  supposedly  a  Chris- 
tian man,  compelled  his  hands  to  work  on  Sun- 
day.    Jerry  said : 

"  No,  I  won't  work  on  Sunday.  I  am  a 
Christian."     He  was  at  once  discharged. 

At  that  time  meetings  were  being  held  in  the 
Allen  house,  and  Mr.  Hatch  had  come  down. 
Jerry  stood  outside,  discouraged.  Mr.  Hatch 
said: 

"  Jerry,  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Can't  get  work.  What's  the  use  of  a  man 
being  a  Christian  ? "  said  Jerry.  "  They 
wanted  me  to  work  on  Sunday,  and  because  I 
wouldn't  do  it,  I  was  discharged.  Now  I  sup- 
pose I  can  starve." 

"  Why,  Jerry,"  said  Mr.  Hatch,  "  I  have  a 
bank  full  of  money  in  Wall  Street;  come  down 
and  get  all  you  want." 

"  If  that's  so,  Mr.  Hatch,"  said  Jerry,  "  I 
don't  want  any  of  it,  if  you  are  so  good  to 
me. 

It  gave  Jerry  encouragement.  Mr.  Hatch 
got  him  in  the  Custom  House  at  four  dollars  a 
day,  and  Jerry  thought  his  fortune  made;  but 


^4  Down  in  Water  Street 

he  was  too  honest  a  man  for  the  place,  and 
spoke  right  out  when  he  saw  things  that  were 
not  being  done  right. 

He  soon  got  his  walking  papers.  Mr. 
Hatch  then  placed  him  on  his  splendid  yacht 
down  in  South  Brooklyn,  at  a  good  salary. 
There  he  sat  under  a  beautiful  awning,  and  all 
he  had  to  do  was  to  watch  the  yacht  and  "  drink 
lemonade  out  of  a  silver  pitcher." 

Reader,  I  want  to  tell  you  a  secret.  Every 
drunkard  uses  tobacco.  Now,  mind  you,  I  am 
speaking  of  the  drunkard.  I  have  heard  it 
reported  that  some  good  deacons,  and  even 
ministers,  use  it;  but  I  am  speaking  now  of  the 
drunkard.  They  all  use  tobacco.  Tobacco 
and  rum  are  sisters-in-law,  and  if  you  marry 
one,  the  chances  are  that  the  other  will  often 
visit  you. 

Jerry  was  no  exception  to  this  rule.  He  was 
a  great  user  of  the  weed.  Some  faithful  Chris- 
tians went  to  him  and  said :  "  Jerry,  give  up 
your  tobacco  for  Jesus'  sake."  He  gave  it 
up,  and  never  fell  afterward.       <^ 

He  would  never  allow  any  one  to  read  the 
lesson  in  his  Mission,  be  he  convert,  layman 
pr  minister,  if  he  knew  thatt  he  used  tobacco. 

Jerry  had  a  vision  one  day,   while  wide 


Jerry  McAuIey  35 

awake,  as  he  sat  thinking  how  men  might  be 
brcHight  to  Jesus.  He  saw  a  great  procession 
of  men,  lost,  ragged,  hungry,  helpless  and 
wretched,  coming  into  a  building,  and  some- 
how they  were  fed,  clothed,  and  came  out 
looking  clean,  comfortable  and  happy.  Jerry 
never  saw  this  vision  fulfilled  completely  in  his 
lifetime,  but  it  has  been  since  his  death,  in  the 
Water  Street  Mission,  and  we  refer  the  reader 
to  the  picture,  "  Waiting  for  their  Christmas 
Dinner." 


THE   FIRST   RESCUE  MISSION 


II 

THE  FIRST  RESCUE   MISSION 

IN  1872,  four  years  after  Jerry's  reclamation, 
he  conceived  the  idea  of  starting  a  Mis- 
sion to  rescue  men  who,  Hke  himself,  had 
no  one  to  help  them.  Mr.  Hatch  did  much  to 
aid  him.  Mr.  William  E.  Dodge  and  his  sons, 
young  men  then,  also  stood  by  him.  Jerry 
went  to  camp  meetings  at  Sea  Cliff,  Ocean 
Grove  and  Sing  Sing,  and  collected  quite  a 
sum  of  money  for  this  purpose. 

Thus  the  first  Rescue  Mission  in  the  world, 
— where  the  drunkard  was  more  welcome  than 
the  sober  man,  the  thief  than  the  honest  man, 
the  harlot  than  the  beautiful,  pure  woman, — 
was  started  by  Jerry  McAuley,  October  8, 
1872,  at  3 '6  Water  Street,  New  York. 

His  dear  wife,  Maria,  stood  by  him,  and  I 
might  as  well  mention  here  as  anywhere  some- 
thing else  about  this  most  gifted  woman.  She 
was  touched  by  the  Holy  Spirit  and  remained 
for  a  while  in  the  building  which  later  became 
the  Water  Street  Mission. 
39 


40  Down  in  Water  Street 

Jerry  was  permitted,  in  the  days  of  his  pov- 
erty, to  sleep  there  occasionally.  His  anxiety 
for  Maria  was  the  greatest  care  of  his  life. 
Christian  friends  gathered  about  her  and  en- 
couraged her.  She  then  went  to  Massachu- 
setts, and  God  in  His  wonderful  love  saved  her 
and  removed  from  her  the  appetite  for  drink. 

Through  the  efforts  of  Mr.  Hatch  and  other 
kind  friends  Jerry  and  Maria  were  married, 
and  lived  together  a  few  years  before  the  Mis- 
sion was  started.  While  Jerry  attended  to  his 
work,  Maria  was  a  Bible  reader  visiting 
all  the  families  in  the  neighbourhood  and  read- 
ing and  praying  with  the  poor  and  needy. 
When  they  started  their  Mission,  Maria  could 
play  a  few  tunes  on  the  organ,  and  Jerry  could 
sing  only  two  or  three.  Some  of  the  first  fami- 
lies brought  to  Christ  after  the  Mission  was 
started,  were  those  that  had  been  found  by 
Mrs.  McAuley  in  her  missionary  work. 

Hordes  of  Irish  Catholics  poured  in  to  see 
Jerry  McAuley,  the  ex-thief,  who  had  "  turned 
preacher."  Stones  were  often  thrown  in  from 
the  outside,  and  men  were  fighting  on  the 
inside.  Often  when  the  music  was  started, 
and  Jerry  had  to  go  down  the  aisle  to  throw 


The  First  Rescue  Mission  41 

someone  out  of  the  door,  he  would  stop  the 
tune,  and  after  coming  back  to  the  platform 
would  take  it  up  where  he  had  left  off. 

Through  all  this  trying  time,  Jerry  was  en- 
couraged and  sustained  by  his  dear  wife,  Sis- 
ter Maria,  and  much  of  the  success  attributed 
to  him  should  be  given  to  her.  She  is  one  of 
the  most  successful  women  the  writer  has  ever 
met,  and  he  has  been  brought  in  touch  with 
many  of  the  most  influential  women  in  this 
land.  She  was  able,  by  the  simplicity  of  her 
loving  heart,  to  point  many  a  poor,  blind  sinner 
to  Christ.  Mrs.  McAuley  was  one  of  the  bravest 
and  brainiest  of  women,  and  she  linked  child- 
like devotion  to  good  common  sense  in  both  the 
higher  and  lower  walks  of  life. 

In  the  after  meetings  which  she  held  in  the 
Mission,  some  of  the  men  would  be  sneering, 
some  crying,  some  drunk,  some  sober,  and 
some  trying  to  insult  her;  yet  she  saw  nothing 
but  the  poor  lost  souls  and  the  precious  Saviour 
standing  near.  Her  faith  was  marvellous. 
She  paid  no  attention  to  an  insult  or  a  sneer, 
but  went  on  in  her  simple  way  telling  the  in- 
quirers that  Jesus  alone  could  help;  and  I  have 
seen  the  hardest  natures  yield  under  her  touch. 


42  Down  in  Water  Street 

I  do  not  think  that  enough  credit  has  been 
given  to  her  in  the  thousands  of  pages  that 
have  been  written  about  Rescue  Work. 

After  Jerry's  death  his  widow  carried  on  a 
Mission  for  years  at  the  Cremorne  in  West 
Thirty-second  street.  Finally,  her  health  broke 
down,  and  she  was  obliged  to  give  it  up.  She 
married  a  gentleman  of  distinction,  who  was 
for  years  a  trustee  of  the  Mission,  a  friend  and 
counsellor  to  Jerry — Mr.  Bradford  L.  Gilbert, 
a  prominent  architect  of  this  city.  She  still 
lives  a  happy  and  devoted  wife,  and  has  in  no 
wise  lost  her  love  for  saving  perishing  souls; 
though  not  publicly  at  the  head  of  any  work, 
she  gives  her  strength  and  means  for  this  pur- 
pose as  far  as  she  is  able. 

It  is  with  gratitude  that  the  writer  pays  this 
tribute  to  one  from  whom  he  has  learned  so 
much,  and  to  whom  not  only  he  but  thousands 
of  others  owe  so  much. 

The  blessing  of  God  was  upon  the  work 
at  Water  Street  from  the  very  start.  The  most 
hardened  men — ex-convicts,  thieves,  sailors, 
captains  and  mates  of  ships, — came  in,  and  the 
Spirit  of  God  got  hold  of  them.  Listening  to 
Jerry's  testimony  of  how  he  was  saved,  they 
would  get  under  conviction  and  give  their 


MRS.    BRADFORD    L.    GILBERT. 
Formerly  Mra.  M.  McAiiI«t 


The  First  Rescue  Mission  43 

hearts  to  Jesus.  Not  only  were  the  lowest 
people  of  the  city  saved  here,  but  many  in  the 
highest  society  were  captured  for  His  cause. 
Many  cases  could  be  mentioned,  but  one  will 
have  to  suffice. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sidney  Whittemore  came 
down  here  to  see  the  novelty — ^Jerry  McAuley, 
a  saved  thief,  leading  a  meeting.  They  were 
Christians,  or  at  least  they  thought  so.  Mrs. 
Whittemore  says  that  she  was  of  that  character 
of  church  people  so  prevalent — "  a  card-play- 
ing, theatre-going,  dancing  Christian "  She 
never  had  seen  anything  like  what  she  saw 
here,  and  when  the  invitation  was  given  for 
those  who  wanted  to  come  to  Christ  to  hold 
up  their  hands,  she  raised  her  hand,  and  hus- 
band and  wife  both  knelt  amid  the  crowd  of 
tramps  who  had  come  up  for  prayer.  Jesus 
met  them,  and  sanctified  that  gifted  woman  for 
His  work.  Who  can  describe  the  wonderful 
change  that  took  place  that  night  in  those 
lives!  This  cultured,  refined  and  beautiful 
woman  then  and  there  gave  her  life  to  God. 
What  that  one  woman  has  done  is  almost  in- 
credible, and  would  be  entirely  so,  were  it  not 
for  the  fact  that  Jesus  has  been  with  her  and 
has  stood  by  her  from  that  day  until  now. ' 


44  Down  in  Water  Street 

Mrs.  Whittemore  organized  the  "  Door  of 
Hope,"  for  lost  and  helpless  girls,  carried  on 
entirely  by  faith,  and  from  that  has  sprung 
some  fifty  or  more  "  Doors  of  Hope  "  through- 
out the  country.  Thousands  of  girls  have  been 
reached  by  this  consecrated  woman,  many  re- 
stored to  mothers,  many  happily  married,  and 
many  have  gone  home  to  be  with  Jesus. 

Let  us  look  this  matter  of  rescuing  lost 
women  squarely  in  the  face.  What  is  the  atti- 
tude of  the  Church,  or  the  majority  of  Chris- 
tian people,  when  a  girl  takes  a  false  step,  pos- 
sibly with  no  criminal  intent?  Do  we  move 
Heaven  and  earth  to  bring  her  back  to  the  path 
of  safety?  Do  we  help  her  by  our  love  and 
strong  arms  to  climb  again  the  rugged  heights 
from  which  she  has  fallen  to  her  ruin,  and  then 
do  we  stand  by  her  ?  I  fear  we  do  not.  Instead 
of  this,  I  have  seen  Society  and  the  Church  turn 
a  deaf  ear  to  her  entreaties  until  her  case  has 
become  hopeless.     This  is  a  mighty  question. 

People  often  ask :  "  Do  not  women  fall  lower 
than  men  ?  "  Yes,  they  do — to  human  eyes. 
They  are  naturally  higher  than  men,  and  they 
have  to  fall  lower,  and  then  sink  into  the  depths 
of  degradation  in  order  to  keep  down,  or  their 
conscience  would  drive  them  to  suicide. 


MRS.    E.    M.    WHITTEMORE. 
Founder  of  The  Door  of  Hope. 


The  First  Rescue  Mission  45 

**  No  matter  how  wayward  her  footsteps  have  been; 
No  matter  how  deeply  she's  sunken  in  sin; 
No  matter  what  elements  canker  the  pearl — 
Tho'  lost  and  forsaken,  she's  some  mother's  girl." 

Jerry  carried  on  his  work  for  ten  years  at 
No.  316  Water  Street.  He  finally  concluded 
that  this  was  a  worked-out  mine,  and  through 
the  providence  of  God  located  a  Mission  at  No. 
104  West  Thirty-second  Street,  known  far  and 
near  as  the  Cremorne  Mission.  It  was  a  part 
of  the  Cremorne  Garden,  an  infamous  resort 
for  men  and  women.  The  lease  had  expired, 
and  Jerry  secured  it  and  started  one  of  the 
finest  missions  in  the  land  at  that  very  spot, 
January  8,  1882. 

It  was  there  that  the  writer  was  converted, 
April  23,  1882. 

When  Jerry  went  to  the  Cremorne  the  work 
in  Water  Street  was  left  in  the  hands  of  one  of 
the  converts,  Mr.  John  O'Neil.  He  remained 
but  a  short  time.  Then  Mr.  J.  F.  Shorey,  a 
redeemed  drunkard,  who  was  captured  at 
Moody's  great  meeting  in  the  Hippodrome, 
was  placed  in  charge  of  the  work. 

Jerry's  health  failed  rapidly  after  he  moved 
uptown;  in  fact,  he  had  been  a  sufferer  from 
consumption  for  years.     The  extra  labour  of 


46  Down  in  Water  Street 

opening  and  carrying  on  the  new  and  larger 
work  proved  beyond  his  strength.  He  died 
suddenly  of  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs,  October 
18,  1884.  His  last  words  to  his  faithful  wife, 
who  was  holding  his  hands,  were : 

"  It  is  all  right  up  there." 

Jerry  McAuley  had  one  of  the  largest  priv- 
ate funerals  ever  held  in  this  city.  For  an  out- 
pouring of  people,  big,  little,  rich  and  poor, 
his  funeral  exceeded  anything  ever  seen.  The 
services  were  held  in  the  Broadway  Tab- 
ernacle. The  house  was  not  only  packed  to 
the  utmost,  but  the  streets  in  front  and  on  the 
sides  were  so  crowded  that  one  could  not  drive 
or  walk  through  them.  It  was  a  great  tribute 
of  love  from  the  people  to  the  man  who  had 
given  his  life  to  save  others. 

Jerry's  anecdotes  were  exceedingly  interest- 
ing, and  in  his  testimony  he  would  relate  many 
of  the  experiences  of  his  life.  Shortly  after 
his  reclamation,  when  this  building  was  used 
as  a  sort  of  Sailor's  Reading  Room,  and  fre- 
quented by  the  seamen  when  they  were  out  of 
work,  a  sea  captain  came  in  one  day  looking 
for  sailors. 

He  saw  Jerry,  and  went  up  to  the  old  man 


The  First  Rescue  Mission  ^7 

who  kept  the  place,  and  pointing  his  finger  at 
Jerry,  said: 

"  Is  that  the  kind  of  people  you  keep  hei*e? 
He's  a  dirty  thief,  and  a  scoundrel.  He  robbed 
my  ship  and  stole  a  hundred  dollars'  worth  of 
sugar,  and  he  ought  to  be  in  the  'Pen.'  "  He 
then  began  to  curse  and  swear  at  Jerry.  Jerry 
didn't  know  what  to  do.  He  had  stolen  the 
sugar,  but  it  was  before  Jesus  had  pardoned  his 
sins. 

What  could  this  man  understand  of  the  step 
he  had  taken?  While  this  ruffian  was  venting 
his  spleen,  Jerry  silently  lifted  his  heart  to 
God,  and  then  said: 

"  Captain,  you  are  right;  I  did  steal  that 
sugar;  but  since  then  I  have  given  my  heart  to 
God  and  Jesus  has  saved  me  from  all  that  kind 
of  a  Hfe." 

He  had  been  working  and  had  saved  $100, 
and  he  had  it  in  the  bureau  at  their  home  in 
Pearl  Street.  He  said :  "  I  have  a  hundred 
dollars,  and  if  you'll  come  home  with  me  I'll 
pay  you  for  your  sugar." 

"  You  pay  a  hundred  dollars,  you  dirty  thief; 
you  haven't  one  hundred  cents.  You  would 
like  to  get  me  into  your  house  to  murder  me." 


48  Down  in  Water  Street 

"  No  one  shall  touch  you,"  said  Jerry; 
"  come  with  me  and  I'll  pay  you."  Jerry  hated 
to  say  this,  as  this  was  the  first  money  he  had 
saved  in  his  life.  The  captain  kept  on  cursing, 
and  refused  to  come. 

"  You  will  come,"  said  Jerry,  as  he  took  him 
by  the  coat-collar,  "  and  I'll  give  you  the 
money."  It  was  impossible  for  the  captain  to 
get  away  from  Jerry,  and  after  a  while  he  went 
more  peacefully,  muttering: 

"  You  have  a  hundred  dollars !  You  thief !  " 

At  last  they  reached  the  house  and  Jerry  un- 
locked the  door.  The  sweat  stood  on  the  cap- 
tain's face,  and  he  became  more  decent. 

"  Jerry,"  he  said,  "  I  believe  you  are  just 
fool  enough  to  pay  that  money. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Jerry,  "  here  it  is." 

"  Well,  Jerry,"  said  the  captain,  "  I  stole  the 
sugar  before  you  stole  it  from  me,  so  keep  your 
hundred  dollars." 

Jerry  would  add  in  relating  this  experience: 
"  This  is  how  God  would  help  me  when  I  got 
into  a  scrape  on  account  of  my  old  rascality." 


MY  CALL  TO  WATER  STREET 


Ill 

MY  CALL  TO  WATER  STREET 

ON  May  30,  1886,  the  writer  took  charge 
of  the  Water  Street  Mission.  Never 
shall  I  forget  that  day!  After  strug- 
gling for  nearly  two  years  after  my  conver- 
sion, T  had  finally  gotten  into  a  profitable  busi- 
ness with  an  income  of  $2,500  a  year,  and  with 
good  prospects  of  a  permanent  future. 

I  considered  the  call  to  work  in  Water  Street 
the  most  important  a  man  could  have,  and  my 
wife  and  I  spent  many  days  in  prayer. 
S'trange  to  say,  we  both  got  our  answer  read- 
ing the  Scripture — Isaiah  Iviii:  3-12. 

Friends  of  the  Mission  decided  to  give  us 
a  great  send-off.  From  the  parlours  I  could 
look  down  into  the  room.  It  was  filled,  with 
well-dressed  people,  Mr.  R.  Fulton  Cutting, 
presiding.  When  I  saw  the  crowd  I  was  fright- 
ened. I  went  into  my  bedroc«n  and  dropped 
on  my  knees  and  said : 

"  Lord,  if  you  have  really  called  me  to  this 
work,  give  me  one  soul." 
51 


52  Down  in  Water  Street 

How  often  have  I  thought  of  that  prayer 
since!  I  could  as  well  have  had  a  score  of 
souls.  The  meeting  went  on.  At  the  close  I 
gave  the  invitation,  saying: 

"  Is  there  one  man  here  who  would  like  to 
come  to  Christ  ?  "  One,  and  only  one,  raised 
his  hand.  The  Lord  did  the  best  He  could, 
according  to  my  faith.  He  gave  me  the  big- 
gest bum  and  drunkard  in  the  house.  He  sat 
on  the  last  seat  by  the  door,  as  he  was  too 
drunk  to  get  any  further. 

One  of  my  friends  had  found  him  the  night 
before  in  a  stale  beer  dive  in  Mulberry  Bend, 
and  had  asked  him  to  come  down. 

"  Give  me  fifteen  cents  and  I'll  come,"  said 
he.  My  friend  gave  him  the  fifteen  cents,  and 
after  spending  it  for  whiskey,  two  drinks  for 
five  cents,  and  all  the  rest  he  could  get,  he 
came  in  very  drunk.    I  said : 

"  If  there  are  any  needy  souls,  come  up 
here."  He  started,  but  was  so  drunk  he  fell 
to  the  floor.  Ready  hands  helped  him  to  the 
front.  He  was  a  fearful  looking  object — six 
feet  four  inches  high,  weighing  260  pounds, 
and  had  on  only  two  garments,  such  as  they 
were — an  old  pair  of  breeches  tied  around  him 
with  a  piece  of  cbthes  line,  and  a  jumper,  both 


My  Call  to  Water  Street  $;^ 

too  short,  there  being  a  wide  space  between 
the  two  where  there  was  nothing  but  the  bare 
skin. 

The  ladies  gave  him  all  the  room  he  wanted 
to  kneel  in.  My  wife,  Mrs.  Sherwood  our 
missionary,  and  also  Mrs.  Stephen  Merritt, 
who  were  present,  knelt  with  him  and  prayed. 

Hundreds  of  times  have  I  heard  him  tell 
the  story  in  his  broad  Scotch  dialect : 

"  I  came  in  drunk  and  I  went  out  sober,  and 
the  best  of  it  is,  I've  been  sober  ever  since. 
Whatever  prayer  it  was  I  made  that  night  I 
don't  remember,  but  the  Lord  heard  it,  and  the 
best  of  it  is.  He  has  answered  it  ever  since.  I 
was  not  fit  to  sleep  in  a  bed  that  night.  No 
lodging  house  would  have  kept  me,  so  I  went 
to  Shinbone  Alley  in  Bleecker  Street  and  took 
the  soft  side  of  a  truck.  I  went  to  work  in  a 
few  days  carrying  a  hod." 

He  was  known  at  that  time  as  "  Scottie  the 
Bum."  Born  in  Glasgow,  he  was  a  drunkard 
from  youth,  and  before  he  was  seventeen  years 
old  he  was  committed  to  prison  for  drunken- 
ness for  one  year.  He  was  sent  to  America, 
as  so  many  drunkards  are,  and  wandered  all 
over  the  country  drinking  rum,  walking  ties 
when  he  could  not  ride  a  freight  train,  sinking 


54  Down  in  Water  Street 

lower  and  lower  in  the  clutches  of  whiskey, 
until  he  was  found  by  my  friend.  He  secured 
work  at  carrying  a  hod.  He  joined  the  Tile- 
layers  Helpers'  Union  after  he  got  work,  and 
soon  became  the  treasurer.  He  was  the  door- 
keeper in  the  Central  Labour  Union  for  years 
on  Sunday  afternoons.  Finally  he  was  chosen 
walking  delegate,  and  for  seven  years  was 
elected  every  six  months. 

He  formed  one  of  the  Board  of  Walking 
Delegates  of  the  Trades  Union  of  New  York. 
*'  Big  Jim,"  as  he  came  to  be  called  in  these 
days,  helped  settle  some  of  the  biggest  strikes 
in  our  city  by  his  manly,  candid  truthfulness 
and  hard  Scotch  common  sense.  He  was 
finally  elected  Grand  Marshal  of  the  Labour 
Day  parade,  and  rode  down  Broadway  on  a 
big  bay  horse  at  the  head  of  fifteen  thousand 
of  the  best  workmen  in  New  York.  He  mar- 
ried a  Christian  woman  from  the  Florence 
Crittenton  Mission. 

Wishing  to  find  other  employment,  he  went 
to  work  for  the  City  and  Suburban  Homes 
Company,  and  from  a  humble  position  he  has, 
by  his  sterling  integrity,  worked  his  way  up, 
until  he  is  now  one  of  the  superintendents,  hav- 


My  Call  to  Water  Street  55 

ing  a  lot  of  men  under  him  and  many  houses 
to  care  for.    He  also  has  a  home  of  his  own. 

Instead  of  "  Scottie  the  Bum,"  or  "Big 
Jim,"  he  has  been  known  and  loved  for  years 
as  Mr.  J.  C.  Edwards. 


MY  LIFE  STORY 


IV 

MY  LIFE  STORY 

1WAS  born  in  Malta  Township,  Morgan 
County,  Ohio,  on  the  banks  of  the  Mus- 
kingum River,  August  27,  1842,  the 
youngest  of  six  children.  My  father  was  a 
New  Hampshire  man,  who  went  West  when 
young  to  seek  his  fortune.  My  mother  was 
the  daughter  of  a  Congregational  clergyman 
in  Massachusetts.  Her  only  brother,  Samuel 
Hopkins  Riddell,  after  whom  I  am  named,  was 
also  a  clergyman.  My  grandmother  on  my 
mother's  side  was  a  Hopkins. 

Her  father  founded  the  Hopkins  Academy 
in  Old  Hadley,  Mass.  On  my  mother's  side  I 
am  a  direct  descendant  of  the  famous  divine, 
Jonathan  Edwards. 

After  my  mother's  education  was  finished 
she,  too,  went  to  Ohio  to  teach.  My  father 
was  a  partner  of  the  Buckinghams,  of  Zanes- 
ville  and  Putnam,  Ohio.  He  afterwards 
moved  to  Malta,  and  bored  two  salt  wells  there. 
He  failed  in  the  great  crisis  of  1837,  but  had 
» 


6o  Down  in  Water  Street 

invested  for  my  mother  and  bought  a  section 
of  land  from  the  Government  in  Perry  County 
adjoining. 

There  father  moved  with  his  family  in  the 
dead  of  winter,  in  1845.  We  moved  into  a 
log  house  in  the  "  forest  primeval "  that  sur- 
rounded us.  This  section  of  land  lay  on  the 
dividing  ridges  of  Sunday  Creek  and  Monday 
Creek,  in  Salt  Lick  Township,  Perry  County, 
Ohio. 

In  our  log  cabin  home  I  could  lie  on  my  bed 
and  see  the  stars  through  the  cracks  of  the  roof, 
and  feel  the  snow  sifting  down  upon  my  face 
in  the  winter  time.  We  were  lulled  to  sleep 
by  the  barking  of  foxes  and  the  hooting  of  the 
owls  in  the  woods  around  us,  and  were  awak- 
ened in  the  morning  by  the  chattering  of  the 
grey  squirrels  near  our  windows.  From  my 
earliest  recollection  I  was  raised  to  clearing 
land;  helping  to  get  our  large  farm  under  cul- 
tivation. The  heft  of  the  work  devolved  upon 
my  elder  brother,  Henry  H,,  and  myself.  My 
oldest  brother,  William,  died  in  the  university 
at  Delaware,  Ohio,  as  he  was  about  to  finish  his 
education. 

I  had  two  sisters  living,  older  than  myself, 


My  Life  Story  6i 

Lucy  Hopkins  and  Hannah  Eastman.  The 
eldest  child,  a  girl,  died  in  early  infancy.  My 
sisters  were  converted  in  the  old  log  meeting- 
house which  my  beloved  father  built  and  gave 
to  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  which  was 
dedicated  as  "  Young's  Chapel,"  after  the  cele- 
brated Methodist  preacher,  the  Rev.  Jacob 
Young,  D.D.  They  were  about  twelve  years 
old  when  they  were  marvellously  saved  at  the 
"  mourners'  bench,"  and  received  a  definite 
baptism  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  The  eldest,  Lucy, 
died  in  1879.  She  prayed  for  me  until  the 
last.  Shortly  before  her  death  she  said  to  her 
husband : 

"  Robert,  Hopp  will  be  saved." 

"  How  do  you  know?  "  said  he,  who  was  at 
that  time  an  unbeliever. 

"  Because  Jesus  told  me  so,"  she  said. 

My  younger  sister,  Mrs.  Hannah  E.  Allen, 
is  living  to-day,  surrounded  by  her  children  and 
grandchildren. 

The  neighbourhood  in  which  we  lived  was 
very  primitive;  entirely  a  farming  section. 
Most  of  the  people  lived  in  log  cabins,  and 
opportunities  for  education  were  very  meagre. 
I  attended  school  altogether  about  four  months, 


6a  Down  in  Water  Street 

in  the  old  log  school-house  with  puncheon 
floors,  one  whole  side  of  the  house  being  used 
as  a  fire-place. 

In  this  log-cabin  home  we  were  brought  up 
to  fear  God.  Family  worship  was  strictly  ob- 
served morning  and  evening.  I  shall  never  for- 
get the  influence  of  that  home;  that  sweet, 
Christian  mother,  precious,  gentle  and  tender. 
Brought  up  amid  refinement,  unused  to  hard 
work,  out  there  in  our  frontier  home  she  did 
all  the  work  with  the  aid  of  us  children. 

No  whiskey  or  tobacco  ever  invaded  the 
sacred  precincts  of  our  log-cabin  home.  I 
promised  my  mother  as  early  as  I  can  remem- 
ber, when  being  taught  my  first  prayers  at  her 
blessed  knees,  that  I  never  would  drink.  In- 
deed, I  promised  her  that  before  I  ever  knew 
what  the  evils  of  liquor  were.  Often  in  her 
busy  cares,  as  she  would  pass  by  me,  she  would 
stop  and  hug  me  to  her  bosom,  and  say : 

"  My  darling  boy,  you  never  will  drink,  will 
you  ?  "  As  I  would  look  into  her  lovely  face 
I  would  say : 

"  No,  mother,  I  will  never  drink." 

This  promise  I  kept  until  my  eighteenth  year, 
when  I  was  induced  to  take  my  first  drink. 


My  Life  Story  6^ 

A  friend  of  ours,  a  man  some  years  older 
than  myself,  a  prominent  business  man,  had 
been  to  town.  He  got  quite  drunk,  and  had 
a  bottle  of  whiskey  with  him.  I  met  him  on 
the  big  road.  It  was  a  beautiful  moonlight 
evening,  and  he  stood  there  perhaps  half  an 
hour  coaxing  me  to  take  a  drink,  the  bottle  in 
one  hand  and  a  corn-cob  stopper  in  the  other. 

"  Come,  come,  Hopp,"  he  said,  "  do  take  a 
drink;  now  be  sociable." 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  I  can't  drink  with  you."  I 
didn't  say,  as  I  should  have  done,  that  I  had 
promised  my  mother  I  never  would  drink. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  if  you  don't  drink  with 
me,  I  will  think  that  you  feel  yourself  above 
me."  I  felt  stung  at  this,  and  took  the  bottle 
from  his  hands  and  turned  it  up,  and  with  my 
eyes  on  the  moon,  which  was  looking  so  kindly 
down  on  me,  I  took  my  first  drink. 

Dear  reader,  I  have  been  careful  in  making 
this  statement  complete,  as  this  was  the  most 
critical  act  of  my  life  up  to  that  time.  That 
first  drink  changed  my  whole  life.  Within  ten 
minutes  it  seemed  to  me  I  was  taken  posses- 
sion of  by  demons.  Thoughts  came  crowding 
into  my  mind  to  which  I  had  been  an  entire 


64  Down  in  Water  Street 

stranger.  Oh,  the  sorrow  and  shame  and  crime 
and  suffering  that  were  entailed  as  direct  re- 
sults of  that  first  drink ! 

It  isn't  the  last  drink  that  hurts  a  man,  or 
the  fourth  or  the  fifth,  but  the  first  drink — that 
is  what  ruins  a  man.  If  these  pages  are  read 
by  one  who  has  not  taken  his  first  drink,  take 
counsel  by  one  who  has  suffered  so  much,  and 
die  before  you  take  it.  Let  the  saloon  door  be 
the  dead-line  to  you. 

Within  a  week  from  that  first  drink  I  could 
drink  a  half  pint  of  whiskey  right  down.  My 
precious  mother  died  shortly  after  this  without 
having  known  that  I  had  broken  my  promise. 
She  was  sitting  in  her  chair  when  the  angels 
came  for  her,  and  she  said  to  my  sisters,  who 
were  standing  by :  "  Tell  Hopkins  to  meet  me 
in  Heaven." 

Yes,  dear  mother,  by  the  grace  of  God  I  will 
meet  you  there. 

Six  months  afterwards  my  father  died,  and 
our  home  was  broken  up.  I  went  to  study 
medicine  in  a  village  near  by,  with  one  of  the 
most  prominent  physicians  in  our  county.  He 
was  a  brilHant  man  but  a  drunkard,  and  what 
I  didn't  know  before,  he  taught  me.  Before 
my  course  was  finished,  I  got  into  trouble 


My  Life  Story  63 

through  drink,  and  had  to  clear  out  as  fast  as 
my  horse  could  go;  in  fact,  I  kept  clearing  out 
for  some  years  afterwards  in  pretty  much  the 
same  way  from  every  place  that  I  settled. 

I  gave  up  my  studies  and  became  a  profes- 
sional gambler.  For  fifteen  years  I  rarely  went 
to  bed  sober.  For  many  years  I  did  not  see 
my  danger,  or  was  too  much  under  the  influ- 
ence of  liquor  to  think  seriously  on  the  subject. 
Occasionally,  however,  ominous  forebodings 
would  arise  in  my  heart  and  I  wondered 
what  the  end  would  be. 

In  1870  it  grew  entirely  too  hot  for  me  out 
West,  and  I  came  to  New  York.  Through  the 
influence  of  my  brother.  Col.  H.  H.  Hadley, 
who  was  here  and  who  stood  high  in  life  in- 
surance circles,  I  obtained  a  position  with  a 
salary  of  $300  per  month  and  a  liberal  allow- 
ance for  expenses.  The  failure  of  the  company 
I  was  with  threw  me  out  of  a  position,  and  I 
never  was  able  to  command  as  good  a  salary 
afterward. 

I  wish  I  could  describe  the  remorse  and 
heartaches  of  the  confirmed  drunkard  who  feels 
himself,  slowly  but  surely,  slipping  down  to 
that  awful  abyss,  the  drunkard's  hell,  a  fore- 
taste of  which  he  already  feels  in  his  soul.    I 


66  Down  in  Water  Street 

have  passed  through  it  all.  "  A  pen  of  iron 
with  the  point  of  a  diamond,"  even  in  the  hand 
of  a  prophet  Jeremiah  could  not  describe  it. 
Through  the  craving  for  drink  and  under  the 
hellish  influence  of  its  promptings  a  man  will 
wreck  his  home,  will  lie  too,  and  deceive  his 
best  friends,  his  wife  and  everybody  who  know 
or  trust  him. 

I  had  lied,  stolen  and  forged  checks.  The 
law,  relentless  as  a  bloodhound,  urged  on  by 
outraged  and  defrauded  creditors,  was  on  my 
track.  S'o  weak  I  could  scarcely  stand  or 
think,  unable  to  sleep  or  eat,  still  I  knew  that 
if  I  did  not  make  certain  crooked  things 
straight  at  once  I  would  be  arrested  and  locked 
in  a  felon's  cell.  I  could  see  only  one  thing  to 
do — ^just  what  the  devil  wanted  me  to  do— and 
that  was  to  go  and  perpetrate  some  crime 
greater  than  anything  I  had  ever  done.  Then 
in  the  agony  of  my  soul  delirium  tremens  came 
upon  me,  as  stealthily  as  a  snake  from  behind 
my  door  or  through  the  window,  in  the  room 
where  I  vainly  hoped  I  might  get  a  few  hours* 
sleep.  Fiends  of  the  most  hellish  forms 
gathered  around  me,  holding  their  mouths  so 
close  that  I  could  feel  their  scorching  breath, 
telling  me  what  to  do;  while  my  faithful,  lov- 


My  Life  Story  67 

ing  wife  was  holding  me  in  her  arms,  I  feared 
she  would  be  frightened  out  of  her  senses  by 
their  evil  plottings.  The  advice  of  these 
demons,  whether  real  or  imaginary,  always 
tended  towards  self-destruction.  Then  they 
would  go  into  the  next  room  and  speak  so  loud 
that  I  could  hear  every  word.  Often  I  would 
rise  from  my  bed  determined  to  end  my  life. 

One  particular  night,  at  Taylor's  Hotel, 
Jersey  City,  N.  J.,  where  I  lived  for  several 
years,  I  went  to  the  window  several  times,  de- 
termined to  jump  out  and  end  it  all,  but  an 
unseen  hand  restrained  me. 

I  could  mention  in  detail  the  many  positions 
I  held,  procured  chiefly  through  my  brother, 
who  though  a  heavy  drinker  himself  at  that 
time,  had  not  been  conquered  by  it;  but  I  have 
spoken  of  failures  enough. 

On  Tuesday  evening,  the  i8th  of  April, 
1882,  I  sat  in  Kirker's  saloon,  in  Harlem,  at 
One  Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth  street  and 
Third  avenue.  Our  home  was  destroyed,  and 
my  faithful,  loving  wife  had  gone  back  South 
where  I  had  married  her.  She  had  stood  by 
me  to  the  last.  How  she  could  do  it  I  cannot 
understand.  Dear,  faithful,  truthful  wife! 
She  is  still  living,  and  I  pray  may  be  spared 


68'  Down  In  Water  Street 

many  years  to  me.  I  think  I  had  never  given 
her  a  cross  word — surely  she  had  not  given  me 
one :  but  our  home  was  a  drunkard's  home,  and 
all  was  gone.  I  had  pawned  everything  or 
sold  everything  that  would  buy  a  drink.  I 
could  not  sleep  a  wink.  I  had  not  eaten  for 
days,  and  for  the  four  nights  preceding  I  had 
suffered  with  delirium  tremens  from  midnight 
until  morning. 

I  had  often  said  I  would  never  be  a  tramp, 
I  would  never  be  cornered,  for  if  that  time  ever 
came,  I  had  determined  to  find  a  home  in  the 
bottom  of  the  river.  But  our  Lord  so  ordered 
it  that  when  that  time  did  come  I  was  not  able 
to  walk  one  quarter  of  the  way  to  the  river. 

I  was  sitting  on  a  whiskey  barrel  for  per- 
haps two  hours,  when  all  of  a  sudden  I  seemed 
to  feel  some  great  and  mighty  presence.  I 
did  not  know  then  what  it  was.  I  learned 
afterwards  that  it  was  Jesus,  the  sinner's 
Friend.  Dear  reader,  never  until  my  dying 
day  will  I  forget  the  sight  presented  to  my 
horrified  gaze.  My  sins  appeared  to  creep 
along  the  wall  in  letters  of  fire.  I  turned  and 
looked  in  another  direction,  and  there  I  saw 
them  agaiik 


My  Life  Story  69 

I  have  always  believed  I  got  a  view  of  eter- 
nity right  there  in  that  gin-mill.  I  believe  I 
saw  what  every  poor  lost  sinner  will  see  when 
he  stands  unrepentant  and  unforgiven  at  the 
bar  of  God.  It  filled  me  with  an  unspeakable 
terror.  I  supposed  I  was  dying  and  this  was 
a  premonition.  I  believe  others  in  the  saloon 
thought  that  I  was  dying,  but  I  cared  very 
little  then  what  people  thought  of  me.  I  got 
down  from  the  whiskey  barrel  with  but  one 
desire,  and  that  was  to  fly  from  the  place. 

A  saloon  is  an  awful  place  to  die  in  if  one 
has  had  a  praying  mother.  I  walked  up  to  the 
bar  and  pounded  it  with  my  fist  until  I  made 
the  glasses  rattle.  Those  near  by  who  were 
drinking  looked  on  with  scornful  curiosity.  I 
said: 

"  Boys,  listen  to  me !  I  am  dying,  but  I  will 
die  in  the  street  before  I  will  ever  take  another 
drink  " — and  I  felt  as  though  this  would  hap- 
pen before  morning. 

A  voice  said  to  me :  "  If  you  want  to  keep 
that  promise,  go  and  have  yourself  locked  up." 
There  was  no  place  on  earth  I  dreaded  more 
than  a  police  station,  for  I  was  living  in  daily 
dread  of  arrest;  but  I  went  to  the  police  sta- 


*70  Down  in  Water  Streei 

tion  in  East  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-sixth 
street,  near  Lexington  avenue,  and  asked  the 
captain  to  lock  me  up. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  be  locked  up?  "  asked 
he  as  I  gave  an  assumed  name. 

"  Because,"  said  I,  "  I  want  to  be  placed 
somewhere  so  I  can  die  before  I  can  get  an- 
other drink  of  whiskey."  They  locked  me  up 
in  a  narrow  cell.  No.  lo,  in  the  back  corridor. 
That  has  become  a  famous  cell  to  me  since. 
For  twenty  years  I  have  visited  that  same  cell 
on  the  anniversary  of  that  awful  night  of  dark- 
ness, and  have  had  sweet  communion  there 
with  Jesus. 

It  seemed  that  all  the  demons  that  could 
find  room  came  in  that  place  with  me  that 
night.  They  were  not  all  the  company  I  had, 
either.  No,  praise  the  Lord,  the  dear  Saviour 
Who  came  to  me  in  the  saloon  was  present,  and 
said : 

"  Pray."  I  did  fall  on  my  knees  on  that 
stone  floor,  and  said: 

"  God  be  merciful  to  me,  a  sinner."  As  soon 
as  I  was  able  to  leave  my  cell,  I  was  taken  to 
the  police  court  and  arraigned  before  Justice 
Bixby.    He  was  very  kind,  and  spoke  carefully 


My  Life  Story  71 

to  the  officer  about  my  case,  and  remanded  me 
back  to  the  cell.  When  they  deemed  it  safe  to 
let  me  go,  Mr.  Knox  McAfee,  the  clerk  of  the 
court,  came  down  to  my  cell  and  let  me  go 
free.  I  made  my  way  to  my  brother's  house, 
where  every  care  was  given  me.  While  lying 
in  bed  the  admonishing  Spirit  never  left  me, 
and  when  I  arose  the  following  Sabbath  morn- 
ing I  felt  that  that  day  would  decide  my  fate. 


MEETING  JESUS 


MEETING   JESUS 

MANY  plans  were  turned  over  in  my 
mind,  but  all  were  rejected,  and  to- 
wards evening,  at  the  suggestion  of 
a  fellow-sinner,  I  went  to  the  Jerry  McAuley 
Cremorne  Mission,  No.  104  West  Thirty- 
second  street.  It  was  Sunday  night,  and  the 
house  was  packed.  With  great  difficulty  I 
made  my  way  through  the  crowded  aisle  to  the 
space  near  the  platform.  There  I  saw  that 
man  of  God,  that  apostle  to  the  drunkard  and 
outcast,  Jerry  McAuley. 

I  glanced  about  the  room  and  saw  a  mixed 
crowd,  I  assure  you.  It  was  the  regular  Res- 
cue Mission  audience  that  I  have  grown  so 
familiar  with  since — pickpockets,  thieves, 
drunkards,  harlots,  sporting  men  and  women, 
and  up  near  Jerry  some  glorious  women  too. 
Only  one  glance  was  needed  to  tell  me  what 
they  were  doing  there.  They  were  there  be- 
cause it  was  good  fishing  ground,  and  they 
75 


76  Down  in  Water  Street 

were  helping  Jerry  to  bring  immortal  souls  to 
Jesus*  feet. 

Jerry  arose  amid  deep  silence,  and  told  his 
experience — that  simple  story  I  have  heard  so 
many  hundred  times  since,  but  which  was  ever 
new — how  he  had  been  a  "  tief,  an  outcast, 
yes,  a  regular  bum;  but,"  he  would  add,  "  I 
gave  my  heart  to  God,  and  He  saved  me  from 
whiskey  and  tobacco  and  everything  that's 
wicked  and  bad.  I  used  to  be  one  of  the  worst 
drunkards  in  the  Fourth  Ward,  but  Jesus  came 
into  my  heart  and  took  the  whole  thing  out 
of  me,  and  I  don't  want  it  any  more." 

I  never  heard  this  kind  of  Gospel  before, 
with  all  the  sermons  I  had  heard,  and  I  began 
to  say  to  myself :  "  I  wonder  if  I,  too,  could 
be  saved?"  There  was  a  sincerity  about  this 
man's  testimony  that  carried  conviction  with  it. 
I  listened  to  the  testimony  of  probably  twenty- 
five  redeemed  drunkards,  every  one  of  whom 
told  my  story.  They  had  all  been  saved  from 
rum.  When  the  invitation  was  given,  I  raised 
my  hand  and  soon  was  kneeling  down  with 
quite  a  crowd  of  drunkards. 

Reader,  how  I  wish  I  could  bring  that  scene 
before  you!  Never  till  my  dying  day  will  I 
forget  it!     How  I  wondered  if  I  could  be 


Meeting  Jesus  77 

saved;  if  God  would  hear  me.  I  was  a  total 
stranger,  but  I  felt  that  I  had  sympathy,  and 
it  helped  me. 

Jerry  made  the  first  prayer.  I  shall  never 
forget  it. 

"  Dear  Saviour,  won't  You  look  down  in 
pity  upon  these  poor  souls?  They  need  Your 
help,  Lord;  they  cannot  get  along  without  it. 
Blessed  Jesus!  these  poor  sinners  have  got 
themselves  into  a  bad  hole.  Won't  You  help 
them  out?  Speak  to  them,  Lord;  do,  for 
Jesus'  sake.     Amen." 

Then  Mrs.  McAuley  prayed  fervently  for  us. 
"  Dear  Saviour,"  she  said  in  closing,  "  I  was 
a  drunkard  down  in  Cherry  Hill  fourteen  years 
ago,  and  You  saved  me.  Save  these  poor 
drunkards,  for  Jesus'  sake." 

Then  Jerry  sang  in  his  peculiar  voice,  still 
kneeling : 

"  There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood. 
Drawn  from  Immanuel's  veins; 
And  sinners  plunged  beneath  that  flood 
Lose  all  their  guilty  stains." 

I  had  heard  that  dear  old  song  years  before 
around  our  fireside  at  evening  prayer,  in  my 
happy  childhood,  and  it  came  back  like  a  sweet 
memory. 


78  Down  In  Water  Street 

"  Now,  all  keep  on  your  knees  and  keep  pray- 
ing," said  Jerry,  "  while  I  ask  these  dear  souls 
to  pray  for  themselves."  He  spoke  to  one  and 
another  as  he  placed  his  hand  upon  their  heads, 
saying :  "  Brother,  pray.  Now,  tell  the  Lord 
what  you  want  Him  to  do  for  you."  How  I 
trembled  as  he  approached  me !  Though  I  had 
knelt  down  with  the  determination  to  give  my 
heart  to  God,  when  it  came  to  the  very  moment 
of  decision  I  felt  like  backing  out.  The  devil 
knelt  beside  me  and  whispered  crimes  in  my 
ears  that  I  had  forgotten  for  months.  I  had 
standing  against  me  at  that  moment  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  forgeries  on  one  man 
alone.  In  the  agony  I  had  been  in  through 
drink,  I  had  forgotten  it  until  the  devil  re- 
minded me  of  it  there. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  these 
matters  if  you  are  going  to  be  a  Christian? 
You  can't  afford  to  make  a  mistake.  Had  you 
not  better  wait  and  fix  these  matters  up  and 
get  out  of  some  of  these  troubles,  and  then 
make  a  start?  How  can  you  go  to  Sing  Sing 
Prison  and  be  a  Christian  ?  "  Oh,  what  a  con- 
flict was  going  on  for  my  poor  soul!  A 
blessed  whisper  said : 

"Come."    The  devil  said: 


Meeting  Jesus  79 

"  Be  careful."   Jerry's  hand  was  on  my  head. 
He  said : 
**  Brother,  pray." 

"  I  can't  pray.     Won't  you  pray  for  me  ?  " 

"  All  the  prayers  in  the  world  won't  save 

you  unless  you  pray  for  yourself."     I  halted 

but  a  moment,  and  then  with  a  breaking  heart 

I  said : 

"  Dear  Jesus,  can  You  help  me?  " 
Dear  reader,  never  with  mortal  tongue  can 
I  describe  that  moment.  Although  up  to  that 
time  my  soul  had  been  filled  with  indescribable 
gloom,  I  felt  the  glorious  brightness  of  the 
noon-day  sunshine  in  my  heart.  I  felt  that  I 
was  a  free  man.  Oh,  the  precious  feeling  of 
safety,  of  freedom,  of  resting  on  Jesus !  I  felt 
that  Christ  with  all  His  love  and  power  had 
come  into  my  life. 

Sinking  and  panting  as  for  breath, 

I  knew  not  that  help  was  near. 
I  cried:  "  Oh,  save  me,  Lord,  from  death, 

Immortal  Jesus,  hear  me." 
Then  quick  as  thought  I  felt  Him  nigh; 

My  Saviour  stood  before  me; 
I  saw  His  brightness  around  me  shine, 

And  shouted,  "Glory!  Glory!" 

And  I  have  been   shouting  "  Glory "  pretty 
much  all  the  time  since.    From  that  moment 


8o  Down  in  Water  Street 

until  now  I  have  never  wanted  a  drink  of 
whiskey,  and  have  never  seen  money  enough 
to  make  me  take  one.  The  precious  touch  of 
Jesus'  cleansing  blood  in  my  soul  took  from 
my  stomach,  my  brain,  my  blood  and  my  im- 
agination, the  hell-born  desire  for  whiskey. 
Hallelujah!    What  a  Saviour! 

I  promised  God  that  if  He  would  take  me 
from  the  bondage  of  strong  drink,  I  would 
work  for  Him  the  rest  of  my  life.  He  has  done 
His  part,  and  I  am  trying  to  do  mine. 

One  other  thing  has  never  ceased  to  be  a 
wonder:  I  was  so  addicted  to  profanity  that 
I  would  swear  in  my  sleep.  I  could  not  speak 
ten  consecutive  words  without  an  oath.  The 
form  or  thought  of  an  oath  has  never  presented 
itself  to  me  since.  Bless  His  dear  name  for- 
ever! 

A  few  weeks  afterwards  the  dear  Lord 
showed  me  I  was  leaning  on  tobacco,  and  that 
I  had  better  lean  entirely  on  Him.  I  threw  my 
plug  away  one  night  down  the  aisle  of  the 
Mission,  and  the  desire  was  removed:  in  fact, 
tobacco  was  the  only  real  sacrifice  I  ever  made 
for  Jesus,  for  I  would  gladly  have  paid  money 
if  I  had  it,  to  be  freed  from  rum. 

tThe  wonderful  mystery  of  God's  love  for 


Meeting  Jesus  8 1 

sinners  has .  never  ceased  to  excite  the  most 
lively  emotions  in  my  breast,  and  has  never  be- 
come an  old  story.  How  the  precious,  pure 
and  spotless  Saviour  could  stoop  down  and 
bear  away  my  drunkenness  and  delirium  tre- 
mens, to  this  day  fills  my  soul  with  the  tender- 
est  gratitude. 

Surely,  "if  any  man  be  in  Christ  Jesus,  he 
is  a  new  creation." 

How  are  you  going  to  explain  the  physio- 
logical conditions  of  a  man's  stomach  and 
brain,  when  but  a  moment  before  he  would  al- 
most commit  murder  for  a  glass  of  rum,  and 
after  the  precious  blood  has  touched  his  soul 
he  abhors  it  ?  It  is  simply  the  Divine,  miracu- 
lous power  of  Jesus  casting  out  demons  as  He 
did  when  on  earth.  "Jesus  Christ,  the  same 
yesterday,  to-day  and  forever."  (Heb.  xiii: 
8.) 

Oh,  sinner,  are  you  reading  these  lines? 
Before  you  close  this  book,  take  Him  to  your 
heart,  and  life,  and  death  can  never  part  you. 

When  I  arose  from  my  knees  in  the  Cre- 
morne  Mission  after  this  glorious  vision  filled 
my  soul,  I  related  my  eicperience,  and  for  the 
first  time  told  the  truth — mind  you,  the  trutH 
so  far  as  I  remembered  it.    All  drunkards  arc 


82  Down  in  Water  S'treet 

liars,  and  my  candid  opinion  is,  that  it  is  the 
last  thing  that  any  person  is  saved  from. 

People  crowded  around  me  and  shook  hands 
with  me.  I  was  amazed.  I  didn't  know  what 
to  make  of  it.  I  had  not  shaken  hands  with 
any  one  for  six  months  except  some  barkeeper 
whom  I  wanted  to  "  hang  up  "  for  a  drink. 

I  made  friends  that  night  that  have  stood  by 
me  ever  since:  Yes,  I  got  acquainted  with 
some  of  the  aristocracy  of  Heaven  that  night. 
I  went  out  in  the  street  and  looked  up  to  the 
sky.  I  don't  believe  I  had  looked  up  for  ten 
years.  A  drunkard  never  looks  up:  he  always 
looks  down.  It  was  a  glorious  starlight  night, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  see  Jesus  look- 
ing at  me  out  of  a  million  eyes. 

"  Dear  Jesus,"  I  cried,  "  You  know  You 
have  saved  me:  But  how  am  I  going  to 
stay  saved?"  Already  the  devil  had  thrown 
a  shadow  across  my  path : 

"You  are  saved;  of  course  you  are;  but 
you'll  fall,  and  you'll  be  awful  sorry  for  all 
the  fuss  you  have  made  to-night."  It  seemed 
to  me  that  Jesus  said  so  plainly : 

"  My  child,  work  for  Me.  There  are  thou- 
sands who  would  come  to  Me  if  they  only  knew 
Me,    Go  and  tell  them." 


BRINGING   MY   BROTHER    TO 
JESUS 


VI 

BRINGING    MY   BROTHER   TO    JESUS 

THAT   night,    right   on   the   corner   of 
Broadway    and    Thirty-second    Street, 
I  was  ordained  to  preach  the  everlast- 
ing Gospel,  and  have  never  doubted  it  for  an 
instant,    I  have  never  stood  before  an  audience 
without  that  vision  inspiring  me : 

"  If  I  can  only  make  these  people,  dear 
Jesus,  know  who  You  are,  they  will, love  You 
too."  I  have  since  been  ordained  by  my  be- 
loved Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  and  I  feel 
highly  honoured,  but  I  have  always  believed 
that  I  was  ordained  of  God  that  night. 

The  great  question  was  then.  What  are  you 
going  to  do?  Hadn't  you  better  go  and  tell 
your  brother?  My  brother  was  not  only  a 
hard-drinking  man,  but  also  an  unbeliever  in 
everyone  but  himself.  I  hesitated.  My  dear 
brother  had  paid  out  thousands  of  dollars  to 
get  me  out  of  scrapes,  and  help  me  when  the 
officers  of  the  law  were  after  me.  "  No,"  the 
devil  said;  "  you  had  better  go  slow  and  keep 
85 


86  Down  in  Water  Street 

quiet.  If  you  are  a  Christian  they  will  see  it 
soon  enough."  The  blessed  Holy  Spirit  said: 
"Tell  it!  Tell  it!  Tell  it!"  I  can  hear  the 
message  yet. 

I  arrived  at  my  brother's  house,  but  with  my 
hand  on  the  gate  I  stopped  for  at  least  ten 
minutes  in  another  final  struggle  with  satan. 
Oh,  the  supreme  importance  of  those  moments ! 
Had  he  been  successful,  probably  these  pages 
never  would  have  been  written.  I  believe  a 
crisis  comes  in  every  redeemed  man's  life  in- 
side of  the  first  twenty-four  hours.  I  went  up 
the  stoop  and  rang  the  bell,  and  my  brother's 
wife  let  me  in.  My  brother  was  at  home  that 
Sunday  night — probably  the  first  Sunday  even- 
ing in  years.  He  was  always  at  the  club,  or  at 
some  saloon,  until  late;  but  the  Lord  had 
caused  him  to  stay  at  home  that  night,  know- 
ing that  I  was  to  be  saved,  and  would  come  to 
see  him. 

I  often  think  how  it  might  have  been  had 
the  devil  succeeded  in  getting  me  to  frustrate 
God's  plans  on  that  particular  night. 

I  said :  "  Harry,  I  was  saved  to-night  at 
Jerry  McAuley's  Mission;  but  I  feel  awful 
weak,  and  hope  you  won't  criticize  me  too 
closely."    My  brother  arose  from  his  chair  and 


Bringing  My  Brother  to  Jesus        87 

walked  away  from  me  to  the  opposite  side  of 
the  parlour,  and  seemed  to  be  looking  at  a  pic- 
ture on  the  wall.  As  he  turned  his  face 
slightly,  I  saw  something  shining  on  his  cheek. 

It  was  very  embarrassing,  and  his  good, 
kind  wife  said :  "  Brother  Hopp,  you'll  stay  all 
night,  won't  you  ?  You  can  go  up  at  any  time ; 
the  room  is  ready."  I  wanted  to  go  just  then. 
I  went  up  and  removed  my  shoes  and  coat,  and 
fell  on  my  knees.  "  Dear  Jesus,"  I  said,  "  You 
know  You  have  saved  me;  now  I  want  You  so 
to  fill  me  with  love  and  Yourself  that  I'll  never, 
never  fall;  never,  never,"  I  kept  saying; 
"  Never,  never.  You  can  do  it,  Jesus,  if  You 
want  to,  and  I'll  stay  here  until  You  do." 

Reader,  somehow  I  felt  that  I  was  getting 
my  case,  and  I  held  on  for  I  don't  know  how 
long,  praying.  Then  after  a  while  the  room 
was  lightened  up  with  a  halo  of  glory.  I  cried, 
I  shouted,  I  wept  for  joy,  and  I  went  to  sleep 
with  tears  raining  from  my  eyes.  I  had  not 
had  any  natural  sleep  for  weeks,  and  I  slept 
like  a  child. 

The  devil  could  not  trouble  me  while  asleep, 
but  I  think  he  sat  on  the  footboard,  waiting 
for  me  to  wake,  for  on  opening  my  eyes  the 
first  thing  that  came  to  my  mind  was: 


8S  Down  in  Water  Street 

"  It  is  all  a  dream.  You  have  had  them 
again."  I  jumped  up  and  threw  open  the 
blinds.  It  was  the  most  glorious  morning  I 
ever  saw.  I  looked  out  on  a  new  world;  peo- 
ple, horses,  birds,  everything  brand  new;  and 
I  have  never  seen  the  old  world  since. 

I  went  to  work  the  next  day  telling  the  story 
to  all  who  would  listen,  and  have  been  telling 
it  ever  since.  I  have  spoken  in  saloons,  dives, 
dance-houses,  stale  beer  dives  and  houses  of  ill- 
fame.  I  have  told  it  in  all  the  leading  colleges 
of  the  land,  and  in  many  theological  seminaries, 
and  never  was  sneered  at  in  my  life  anywhere. 
I  have  the  same  story  for  all, — the  boundless, 
deathless  love  of  Jesus  for  the  sinner.  It  never 
has  failed,  and  never  will.  I  believe  that  both 
believers  and  unbelievers  would  sooner  hear 
that  old,  sweet  story  from  a  loving  heart  than 
any  other  story  on  earth. 

The  forgeries  troubled  me  and  hung  over  me 
like  a  pall.  After  praying  over  it  much,  I  took 
Jesus  with  me  one  day  and  went  down  to  Vesey 
Street  to  this  man's  office  to  see  him.  I  knew 
that  they  were  collecting  evidence  to  send  me 
up.  The  gentleman  was  out  when  I  went  in, 
and  I  took  a  chair  and  waited  for  him.  Soon 
he  came  hurrying  into  the  room. 


Bringing  My  Brother  to  Jesus        89 

"  Mr. ,"  I  said,  "  I  want  to  speak 

to  you." 

"Hadley,  are  you  here?"  he  asked  in  as- 
tonishment. 

"  Sit  down,"  I  said;  "  I  have  something  to 
tell  you." 

He  seated  himself,  and  instead  of  telling  him 
anything  about  our  trouble,  I  began  to  tell  him 
how  Jesus  had  saved  me;  I  didn't  want  a  drink 
any  more.  Before  I  had  talked  three  minutes, 
he  began  to  weep. 

"  Mr.  Hadley,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  the  kind  of  religion  you  have  got, 
but  I  would  give  all  I  am  worth  if  I  had  what 
you  have.  Now,  go  ahead  and  do  all  the  good 
you  can,  and  I  will  never  trouble  you." 

The  cloud  was  lifted,  and  so  has  every  other 
cloud  where  I  have  done  the  same  thing. 

A  redeemed  drunkard  has  many  hard  things 
to  face,  and  so  had  I.  A  drunkard  is  always  a 
liar,  and  I  was  no  exception.  It  is  a  fatal  thing 
if  a  man  attempts  to  carry  over  his  old  lies  into 
his  new  life.  Some  one  always  knows  all  about 
them.  I  had  one  pet  lie.  I  had  told  it  so  often 
that  I  believed  it  myself.  I  am  lame  in  my 
right  knee,  having  cut  it  when  I  was  sixteen 
years  old.    While  down  in  Nashville,  Tenn., 


90  Down  in  Water  Street 

during  the  war,  where  I  went  to  bring  home 
my  wounded  brother,  I  was  asked  repeatedly 
how  I  became  lame,  and  I  finally  said  I  got  it 
in  the  army.  The  attitude  of  every  one  was 
changed  toward  me  at  once.  "  Let's  have  an- 
other drink;  I  do  love  to  treat  that  lame  sol- 
dier."   I  saw  that  I  had  struck  it  rich. 

My  brother  knew  of  my  falsehood,  and  he 
helped  me  tell  it  sometimes. 

A  soldier  generally  has  some  place  where 
he  was  wounded,  and  I  soon  found  out  how 
necessary  it  was.  Some  one  would  ask  me 
what  regiment  I  was  in;  in  what  division; 
"Who  was  your  commander?  In  what  en- 
gagement were  you  wounded  ?  "  I  had  chosen 
the  battle  of  Stone  River,  Tenn.,  as  the  scene 
of  my  calamity.  And  sometimes  in  a  barroom 
I  would  be  asked  whereabouts  on  the  field  was 
my  regiment  engaged.  At  last  I  bought  a 
short  history  of  the  battle  of  Stone  River,  with 
a  map  of  the  field,  for  I  found  that  a  man  had 
to  be  well  posted  even  to  be  a  liar. 

I  had  married  my  wife  as  a  lame  soldier,  and 
when  she  found  I  was  a  drunkard  and  was  un- 
able to  make  a  living,  she  wondered  why  I  did 
not  get  a  pension.  I  found  this  hard  to  ex- 
plain, and  only  multiplied  my  lies  without  num- 


A    GROUP    OF    FORTY-SIX    REDEEMED    ONES. 


Bringing  My  Brother  to  Jesus        9 1 

ber.  My  wife  spoke  to  my  brother  about  get- 
ting me  a  pension,  but  he  said  he  could  do  noth- 
ing. When  pushed  on  the  subject,  I  would  say 
that  I  was  irregularly  enlisted,  and  irregularly 
discharged.  In  fact,  there  was  something  irre- 
gular about  my  whole  army  record. 

When  I  was  converted,  my  brother, — so  I 
learned  years  afterwards, — said  to  his  wife: 
"  If  Hopp  is  honest,  he  will  tell  his  wife  about 
that  lie."  We  little  know  who  is  drawing  the 
line  over  us  when  we  profess  Christ.  I  tremble 
even  now  at  what  might  have  been  the  awful 
consequence  had  I  kept  silent  about  this  matter. 

The  first  man  that  took  my  hand  as  I  arose 
from  my  knees  the  night  of  my  conversion  was 
an  ex-prize  fighter,  Sam  Irwin.  He  hunted  me 
up  the  next  day,  and  the  next.  He  was  a  rov- 
ing missionary  for  Mr.  Joseph  Mackey,  a  pub- 
lisher in  this  city.  He  was  a  giant  of  a  man; 
one  of  the  sweetest  souls  I  ever  knew.  One 
day  as  we  were  parting,  he  said : 

"  By  the  way,  Brother  Hadley,  how  did  you 
get  your  lameness  ?  "  Without  a  thought  I 
said : 

"  I  was  wounded  in  the  army." 

"  Is  that  so?  '*  he  said;  "  I  am  glad  to  hear 
it,  for  I  am  an  old  soldier  myself,'  and  adding 


92  Down  in  Water  Street 

that  he  would  see  me  at  the  mission  in  the 
evening,  he  took  a  Sixth  Avenue  car  for  down- 
town, and  was  gone. 

"Aha,"  said  my  ever  present  enemy,  the 
devil,  "  you  are  a  Christian,  are  you  ?  Why, 
you  can  lie  as  easy  as  you  ever  could."  Oh, 
the  doubt  that  came  floating  over  my  soul. 
The  Spirit  said :  "  If  you  are  not  a  Christian, 
how  is  it  you  don't  swear  or  want  a  drink? 
Go  after  him  and  tell  him  the  truth." 

I  took  the  next  car  and  followed  him,  for 
I  knew  that  he  was  going  to  Mr.  Mackey's 
office  at  No.  3  Beach  St.,  where  the  Wool  Ex- 
change now  stands.  I  went  into  the  office  and 
asked  the  clerk  if  I  could  see  Mr.  Irwin.  I 
looked  tough,  and  I  suppose  the  clerk  thought 
I  wanted  to  borrow  some  money,  and  he  said: 

"  No,  you  can't  see  him." 

"  I  must  and  I  will  see  him."  I  felt  that  my 
future  through  all  eternity  depended  on 
whether  I  saw  him  or  not.  The  clerk  walked 
back  into  the  private  office,  and  coming  back, 
said: 

"  Well,  go  in,  but  be  in  a  hurry."  I  went  in 
and  found  the  gentlemen  busily  engaged  with 
private  business,  and  they  were  visibly  annoyed 


Bringing  My  Brother  to  Jesus        93 

at  the  interruption.  They  did  not  help  me  a 
bit,  and  I  stood  there  like  a  fool,  not  knowing 
how  to  begin. 

"  Mr.  Irwin,"  I  blurted  out,  "  I  lied  to  you 
about  being  in  the  army,  and  I  want  you  to 
forgive  me.  I  never  was  in  the  army  in  my 
life.  I  cut  my  knee  with  an  axe  when  a  boy. 
Can  you  forgive  me  ?  "  They  both  looked  up 
very  much  interested,  and  he  said : 

"  So  you  thought  you  had  to  come  and  tell 
me,  did  you,  Brother  Hadley  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  good  bye,"  and  was  gone. 

How  the  tears  of  shame  rolled  down  my 
cheeks  as  I  passed  out  through  the  office,  by 
the  clerk,  out  in  the  hall,  and  down  the  steps! 
I  am  thus  explicit,  reader,  because  I  consider 
this  the  crucial  time  in  my  Christian  experi- 
ence. Up  to  the  moment  when  I  reached  the 
sidewalk,  I  had  been  torn  all  to  pieces  by 
satan,  and  had  not  received  any  help  at  all  that 
I  knew  of  from  Jesus.     The  devil  said : 

"  You  are  a  fool  to  give  yourself  away  thus. 
Why  didn't  you  keep  still  ?  No  one  would  have 
ever  known  this,  and  now  you  have  lost  the 
only  friend  you  had."  I  stood  looking  around, 
bewildered,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  when  all 


94  Down  In  Water  Street 

at  once  I  surely  met  Jesus  there  on  the  side- 
walk. The  unspeakable  bliss  of  that  moment 
I  can  never  describe. 

"  Now,  my  child,"  said  He,  "  just  think  of 
it;  see  what  you  have  done.  Now,  you  will 
never  have  to  tell  another  lie  all  through  your 
life.  Is  not  that  grand  ?  "  When  this  thought 
came  to  me,  and  I  fully  realized  it,  I  did  not 
walk  on  the  ground  any  more  that  day;  I  was 
up  over  the  tree  tops  among  the  clouds.  I  lit, 
however,  before  long,  and  lit  hard,  too.  Don't 
think,  reader,  that  I  mean  to  say  that  I  have 
never  told  a  lie  since.  I  have  told  many  of 
them,  and  have  bitterly  repented;  but  the  same 
precious  Saviour  has  come  each  time  and 
helped  me  confess  and  forsake,  and  has  fully 
forgiven  all  my  sins. 

Six  months  after  this  occurrence  I  was  able 
to  procure  employment  that  enabled  me  to 
bring  my  dear  wife  home.  When  taking  her 
to  the  room  I  had  prepared  for  a  home,  I  said, 
before  taking  off  my  hat :  "  Now,  Lizzie,  there 
is  one  thing  I  must  tell  you  before  going  any 
further.  I  always  lied  to  you  about  being  in 
the  army;  I  never  was  in  the  army.  I  cut  my 
knee  in  two  with  an  axe  when  a  boy.     Can  you 


■ 

11 

■ 

^^■^ 

fllB 

,^^^^H 

1 

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1 

■_ 

^^^^^^^j^^j^^yg^^^^^B 

MRS.    S.    H.    HADLEY. 


Bringing  My  Brother  to  Jesus        95 

forgive  me  ?  "  She  did  forgive  me,  as  a  true 
wife  will  forgive  her  husband  when  he  is  hon- 
est, but  she  kept  looking  at  me  kind  of  strange 
like,  as  if  she  were  not  sure  but  what  some 
other  fellow  had  come  in.  The  next  morning 
she  went  to  see  my  brother's  wife,  and  said : 

"  Sister,  what  do  you  think  my  husband  told 
me  last  evening?  He  said  that  he  had  never 
been  in  the  army,  and  had  always  deceived  me. 
What  could  have  caused  him  to  make  such  a 
humiliating  confession  ?  "  When  my  brother 
came  home  to  his  dinner,  his  wife  said : 

"  Harry,  Hopp  is  converted,  sure  enough." 

"  Why,  did  he  tell  his  wife  about  that  lie?  " 

"  Yes,  he  did,"  she  said. 

Four  years  afterwards  I  had  a  pleasure 
which  is  given  to  few  missionaries  in  this 
world.  I  saw  my  own  brother  come  to  Jesus  in 
my  own  Mission.  Had  I  covered  up  that  lie,  I 
would  have  lost  my  brother's  soul  and  my  own. 
"  He  that  covereth  his  sins  shall  not  prosper; 
but  whoso  confesseth  and  forsaketh  them  shall 
find  mercy."     (Prov.  xxviii:  13.) 

In  closing  this  story  of  God's  dealings  with 
me,  I  wish  to  sum  up  with  John  Newton's  won- 
derful lines: 


^6  Down  in  Water  Street 

In  evil  long  I  took  delight, 

Unmoved  by  shame  or  fear, 
Till  a  new  subject  struck  my  sight, 

And  stopped  my  wild  career. 
I  saw  One  hanging  on  a  tree 

In  agony  and  blood ; 
Who  fixed  His  languid  eyes  on  me 

As  near  the  cross  I  stood. 
Sure,  never  till  my  latest  breath 

Can  I  forget  that  look. 
He  seemed  to  charge  me  with  His  death, 

Tho'  not  a  word  He  spoke. 
My  conscience  felt  and  owned  the  guilt, 

And  plunged  me  in  despair; 
I  saw  my  sins  His  blood  had  spilt, 

And  helped  to  nail  Him  there. 
Alas,  I  knew  not  what  I  did ! 

But  now  mv  tears  are  vain ; 
Where  shall  my  trembling  soul  be  hid. 

For  I  the  Lord  have  slain  ? 
A  second  look  He  gave  which  said : 

"  I  freely  all  forgive ; 
This  blood  is  for  thy  ransom  paid; 

I  died  that  thou  may'st  live." 
Thus  while  His  death  my  sin  displayg 

In  all  its  blackest  hue. 
Such  is  the  mystery  of  His  grace- 
It  sealed  my  pardon  too. 


LOVE  THE   DRAWING  POWER 


VII 

LOVE   THE   DRAWING   POWER 

NEARLY  all  the  policemen  in  New  York 
know  about  the  Water  Street  Mission 
and  its  work;  so  also  does  every  tough, 
bunco-steerer,  professional  sneak-thief  and  the 
other  specimens  of  the  class,  who,  after  per- 
sistently violating  the  law  and  placing  them- 
selves in  bad  repute,  find  themselves  shut  out 
from  every  opportunity  to  earn  an  honest  liv- 
ing, and  who  dwell  in  the  shadow  of  the  peni- 
tentiary or  the  electric  chair  throughout  their 
miserable  lives. 

When  the  convict  who  has  served  his  term 
in  Sing  Sing  prepares  to  face  the  world  again 
— that  world  that  can  be  counted  upon  to  do 
its  utmost  towards  driving  him  back  to  prison 
— he  is  usually  advised  of  the  thorny  path 
before  him,  and  the  last  sentence  of  the  advice 
is  this : 

"You  had  better  go  and  see  Hadley  down 
at  the  Water  Street  Mission."    As  the  convict 
has  heard  of  Hadley  before,  if  he  purposes  to 
99 


lOO  Down  in  Water  Street 

reform  he  makes  his  way  to  our  Mission. 
There  he  is  sheltered,  fed  and  clothed,  if  need 
be,  and  put  to  work  at  something.  He  is  asked 
no  questions.  No  promises  are  exacted.  He 
has  no  rules  to  observe  except  the  one  rule  of 
order.  He  is  not  lectured  on  his  past.  He  is 
not  exhorted.  Although  it  is  essentially  a  re- 
ligious institution,  neither  Bible  nor  tract  is 
forced  upon  him. 

He  is  left  to  himself  without  restraint  of  any 
kind.  He  is  neither  watched  nor  suspected. 
He  is  usually  puzzled  to  know  what  the  whole 
thing  means.  He  is  treated  as  a  brother;  as 
if  he  were  the  best  man  in  the  world.  He  meets 
with  unvarying  kindness  on  every  hand. 
Sometimes  he  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
has  a  "  snap,"  and  proceeds  to  work  it  for  all 
it  is  worth.  He  takes  advantage  of  confidence 
and  steals  whatever  of  value  he  can  lay  his 
hands  on,  and  departs  with  a  chuckle.  Sooner 
or  later  he  is  driven  back  again,  by  hunger,  to 
the  only  place  where  he  can  get  shelter  and 
food.  On  his  return  he  is  met  with  the  same 
welcome,  the  same  kindness.  There  is  no 
word  of  reproof  for  him,  not  even  a  suggestion 
or  hint  that  he  has  not  acted  honourably. 

Again  and  again  he  may  show  the  cloven 


Love  the  Drawing  Power  loi 

foot,  but  at  last  he  finds  that  in  the  Old  Mc- 
Auley  Water  Street  Mission  there  is  a  stock  of 
love  that  cannot  be  exhausted;  that  here,  if 
nowhere  else,  the  spirit  of  the  Founder  of 
Christianity  is  in  full  force.  It  is  no  wonder 
that,  as  a  usual  thing,  the  tough  heart  of  the 
criminal  is  finally  broken  by  the  glorious  prin- 
ciple of  love,  and  he  becomes  a  practical, 
earnest  Christian,  working  powerfully  among 
his  former  associates  to  bring  them  to  the  One 
who  has  saved  him. 

The  most  welcome  at  the  Water  Street  Mis- 
sion are  those  who  are  utterly  wrecked;  those 
whose  every  effort  at  reform  has  failed — ref- 
use, outcast  humanity,  male  and  female;  and 
when  these  are  finally  converted,  the  power 
they  manifest  on  others  and  in  their  conversion 
is  marvellous.  But,  reader,  it  is  "  Love  that 
drives  our  chariot  wheels,  and  death  must  yield 
to  love;  "  "  Love  never  faileth;  "  "  Love  think- 
eth  no  evil;  "  "  seeketh  not  its  own;  "  "  beareth 
all  things."     i  Cor.  xiii. 

We  never  tire  of  reaching  out  the  hand  of 
friendship  to  the  crook,  the  drunkard  or  the 
courtesan  during  their  unhappy,  misspent  lives, 
and  when  they  die  without  friends  we  g^ve 
them  a  Christian  burial. 


I02  Down  in  Water  Street 

We  are  thankful  we  get  the  worst  people  on 
earth  here.  We  have  had  hundreds  of  con- 
verts here  who  were  such  outcasts  that  the 
dogs  would  bark  at  them  on  the  streets.  With 
no  other  purpose  but  to  see  if  they  could  get  a 
night's  lodging  or  a  bite  to  eat,  they  came  here, 
and  here  Jesus  met  them  and  saved  them  by 
His  grace,  and  they  are  now  taking  care  of 
their  families — ^fine,  strong.  Christian  men, 
members  of  the  churches,  and  a  blessing  to  all 
who  know  them,  when  a  few  years  ago  they 
were  an  unmitigated  curse  to  society. 

Did  they  come  for  salvation  ?  Oh,  no :  they 
came  to  beat  us  out  of  anything,  from  a  night's 
lodging  to  a  suit  of  clothes.  Every  one  is 
treated  as  if  he  were  a  man.  No  one  is  turned 
away :  I  give  to  every  one  that  asketh,  and  him 
that  would  borrow  from  me  I  turn  not  away. 
This  opens  his  eyes.  He  is  so  used  to  being 
kicked  and  thumped  and  turned  down  that  he 
opens  his  eyes  wide.  His  poor  heart  is  broken, 
and  he  looks  for  the  source,  and  when  I  tell 
him  I  was  a  thief,  a  drunkard  and  a  liar,  he 
kneels  down  and  we  tell  Jesus  all  about  it.  He 
makes  a  start.  He  may  fall,  once  or  many 
times — who  does  not?  Is  it  any  wonder? 
His  acquaintances  are  all  drunkards,  and  the 


Love  the  Drawing  Power  103 

saloons  are  ready  to  welcome  him  on  every 
hand.  But  if  he  does  fall,  we  pick  him  up, 
and  it  often  shows  him  that  he  must  make  a 
full  surrender  of  spirit,  soul  and  body  to  God. 
We  believe  in  holiness  of  heart  and  life,  and 
we  teach  it,  and  many  of  our  converts  have  en- 
tered into  that  place  of  safety. 

A  host  of  the  converts  of  the  McAuley 
Water  Street  Mission  have  been  called  into 
Christian  work,  many  more  than  I  have  room 
to  speak  of  in  this  volume.  I  shall  give  some 
portraits  and  histories  of  those  who  have  come 
under  my  own  observation — those  whom  I 
have  seen  converted  and  those  whose  lives  I 
have  known. 

One  night  an  old  man  came  in,  whom  I  shall 
call  the  Old  Colonel.  He  was  one  of  the  most 
typical  tramps  that  ever  came  into  our  Mission, 
where  the  lost  congregate  in  such  numbers.  No 
pen  can  adequately  describe  his  condition,  but 
I  may  be  able  to  give  a  faint  idea  of  how  he 
looked.  He  was  over  six  feet  tall,  and  sixty 
years  of  age,  but  he  looked  a  hundred.  His 
dirty  grey  beard  was  a  foot  long,  and  his  hair 
of  the  same  colour  hung  a  foot  down  his  back. 
His  eyes  were  bleared  and  full  of  matter,  and 
the  hue  of  his  face  showed  that  he  and  water 


I04  Down  in  Water  Street 

had  long  been  strangers.  He  had  on  an  old, 
ragged  overcoat,  probably  pulled  out  of  some 
ash  barrel,  and  fastened  with  a  nail.  An  old 
coat  and  vest  completed  his  wardrobe.  His 
trousers  could  not  be  called  a  part  of  his  outfit, 
for  they  were  little  more  than  holes  with  rags 
tied  round  them.  He  had  on  no  shirt  or  under- 
shirt, and  on  his  feet  were  pieces  of  rags  tied 
up  with  strings. 

I  had  known  him  for  years.  He  was  a  com- 
mon beggar.  He  came  in  here  in  June,  1887, 
to  "  see  "  me.  It  was  Sunday  night,  and  in 
the  middle  of  the  service  he  stood  and  peered 
forward  and  said: 

"  Mr.  Hadley,  are  you  there?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  am  here." 

"  Will  you  pray  for  me  ?  I  am  contrite.** 
At  the  invitation  he  came  up,  with  probably 
twenty  others,  and  prayed  away  like  a  man  in 
dead  earnest.  When  we  arose  from  our  knees 
he  stood  up  and  said : 

"  Well,  I  am  saved.  There  is  no  doubt 
about  it."  At  the  close  of  the  service  he  came 
up  on  the  platform  and  put  his  arm  around  my 
neck  and  said : 

"  Brother  Hadley.  what  are  you  going  to 
give  me?** 


Love  the  Drawing  Power  105 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  "  you  will  get  a  night's  lodg- 
ing. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "that's  right,  but  what 
else?" 

"  I  will  give  you  a  quarter  for  your  break- 
fast," said  I. 

"  That's  right,"  said  he;  "I  always  knowed 
you  were  a  Christian,"  and  with  his  quarter 
and  ticket  for  a  bed  he  tottered  off.  As  he  left 
me  he  said: 

"  I'll  come  every  night.'* 

"  Oh,  don't,"  said  I ;  "  just  come  occasion- 
ally."    But  he  said  again : 

"  Yes,  Brother  Hadley,  I'll  come  every 
night."  Who  was  this  specimen  of  the  devil's 
cruel  power  and  handiwork?  He  was  from 
one  of  Ohio's  oldest  and  best  families,  from  a 
wealthy,  prosperous  Christian  home. 

After  going  through  college,  he  studied  law 
in  the  office  of  E.  M.  Stanton,  the  great  War 
Secretary  under  the  immortal  Lincoln.  He 
married,  and  began  to  practice  law.  But  alas ! 
in  college  he  began  to  drink  whiskey,  and  every 
where  he  was  a  failure.  He  entered  the  army 
at  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  war,  and  served 
through  that  fearful  struggle  with  credit,  and 
was  mustered  out  a  colonel  in  an  Illinois  cav 


io6  Down  in  Water  Street 

airy  regiment,  a  confirmed  drunkard.  He 
tried  to  struggle  against  that  deadly  habit 
which  had  so  securely  fastened  itself  upon  him, 
but  it  was  useless.  At  last,  when  home,  wife 
and  children  were  gone,  he  became  utterly  dis- 
couraged. He  gave  up  in  despair,  and  coming 
to  New  York  took  an  assumed  name. 

He  never  went  near  the  post  office,  and  ulti- 
mately came  to  be  a  street  beggar.  For  over  a 
quarter  of  a  century  he  had  been  a  confirmed 
drunkard.  This  was  the  man  who  came  up  for 
prayers  that  night.  He  was  on  hand  early  the 
following  evening,  as  he  promised.  He  came 
forward  for  prayers  when  the  invitation  was 
given,  and  prayed  away  like  a  good  fellow. 
After  we  arose  from  our  knees  he  stood  up, 
and  with  much  unction  said  he  was  saved  sure 
this  time.  He  tried  to  put  his  arms  around  me 
again,  but  I  repelled  him  this  time  with  much 
more  vigour  than  grace,  I  fear.  I  pointed  him 
to  the  door. 

"  Do  you  mean  it  ?  "  he  said. 

"  If  you  linger  much  longer,"  I  said,  "  you 
will  see  if  I  mean  it."  He  went  away  slowly, 
cursing  me,  the  Mission  and  everybody  else. 
He  swore  he  would  die  in  the  streets  before  he 
would  ever  come  again.     I  had  been  sorely 


Love  the  Drawing  Power  107 

tried  that  night.  I  had  been  compelled  to  put 
out  three  'longshoremen  who  came  in  drunk 
looking  for  fight.  I  was  clearly  a  backslider. 
My  heart  smote  me  as  I  saw  the  miserable, 
hopeless  figure  go  out  into  the  night.  I  went 
to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  I  could  think  of  noth- 
ing else,  pray  for  nothing  else.  I  felt  he  must 
be  saved,  or  I  would  be  lost. 

The  next  two  weeks  was  an  important  period 
in  my  Christian  life.  I  must  have  slept,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  I  did  not.  I  believe  I  learned  a 
little,  just  a  little,  as  much  as  I  was  able  to  bear, 
of  what  the  blessed  Jesus  suffered  for  me  that 
awful  night  in  the  Garden. 

Two  weeks  from  that  day  we  had  our  month- 
ly meeting  of  rescue  workers.  Our  speaker  had 
disappointed  us,  and  some  one  said : 

"  Call  on  Brother  Hadley." 

"  Yes,  I  have  something  to  say,"  I  said,  and 
in  shame  and  tears  I  told  them  about  the  Old 
Colonel  and  how  I  had  treated  him.  While  I 
was  making  the  confession  it  seemed  as  if  the 
Holy  Ghost  fell  upon  us  all.  No  one  said 
"pray,"  but  all  fell  on  their  knees.  They 
prayed  for  the  Old  Colonel,  and  they  prayed 
for  me  that  God  would  deliver  my  soul.  While 
they  prayed  the  clouds  broke. 


io8  Down  in  Water  Street 

"  Get  up,"  I  said,  "  you  need  not  pray  any 
more."     They  gathered  around  me  and  said: 

"  Oh,  Brother  Hadley,  have  you  got  your 
answer  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  said  I,  as  I  wrung  their  hands. 
At  the  same  hour  that  we  were  praying,  a 
friend  of  mine,  Jerry  H.  Griffin,  a  redeemed 
drunkard,  who  had  known  of  my  agony,  and 
who  knew  the  Colonel,  came  across  him  in  Bat- 
tery Park,  and  told  him  I  was  praying  for  him. 

I  hastened  to  the  elevated  road  and  came 
down  to  Water  Street,  and  there  on  the  back 
bench  sat  the  Colonel.  It  was  my  turn  now, 
and  as  I  put  my  arms  around  his  neck  he  burst 
into  tears.  I  got  him  a  beefsteak,  some  pota- 
toes, bread  and  butter  and  coflfee.  He  ate  like 
a  famished  animal.  I  got  a  tub  of  hot  water, 
a  bar  of  soap  and  plenty  of  towels,  and  with  the 
hands  that  pen  these  lines  I  washed  this  poor 
outcast.  I  threw  his  old  vermin-infested  rags 
into  the  furnace.  I  dressed  him  in  clean  clothes 
from  head  to  foot.  I  then  took  him  across  the 
street  to  the  barber  shop  and  told  them  to  put 
the  clipper  on  him.  His  long  hair  and  beard 
soon  disappeared,  but  the  moustache  seen  in 
his  picture  was  left.  He  stayed  to  the  meet- 
ing, and  came  forward  for  prayers,  but  oh,  how 


^ 

^pW^ 

Love  the  Drawing  Power  109 

changed!  His  whole  frame  trembled  with 
emotion,  and  tears  fell  from  his  eyes  as  he 
cried : 

"  Oh,  Lord,  if  it  is  not  too  late,  forgive  this 
poor,  lost,  sinner !  "  I  told  my  helpers  to  let 
him  alone,  as  the  Lord  had  hold  of  him.  For 
six  nights  this  was  repeated,  and  at  the  close  of 
our  service  on  Saturday  night  he  arose  and  said 
with  Heaven  in  his  face: 

"  Oh,  Brother  Hadley,  I  am  saved."    I  said: 

"  I  believe  you."     Then  we  did  have  a  hug. 

From  that  instant  the  old  beggar  tramp  was 
changed  into  a  child  of  God.  He  fairly  loathed 
rum  and  all  its  works.  God  restored  his  intel- 
lect, which  was  so  badly  impaired.  His  youth 
returned  and  he  became,  as  the  reader  can  see, 
a  dignified.  Christian  gentleman. 

Thousands  have  heard  him,  during  the  thir- 
teen years  he  was  among  us,  tell  of  the  wonder- 
ful love  of  Jesus.  He  was  at  last  taken  sick, 
and  I  placed  him  in  the  Presbyterian  Hospital. 
He  died  triumphant  in  Jesus,  and  was  buried 
from  dear  old  Water  Street  Mission. 

"Was  it  for  crimes  that  I  have  done. 
He  groaned  upon  the  tree? 
/imazing  pity,  grace  unknown. 
And  love  beyond  degree  I " 


THE  DEVIL'S  CASTAWAYS 


viir 

THE  DEVIL^S   CASTAWAYS 

WE  believe  our  blessed  Redeemer  can 
beat  the  devil  out  of  sight  at  his  own 
game  and  on  his  own  ground;  nor  do 
we  think  He  needs  any  sociality  or  subterfuge 
to  help  him ;  only  the  straight,  glorious  Gospel 
of  love,  compassion  and  pity. 

A  poor,  homeless  man  will  be  sitting  in  City 
Hall  Park.  He,  perhaps,  has  come  to  town  to 
look  for  work,  or  he  may  have  been  compelled 
to  leave  his  home  for  some  crookedness,  or  he 
may  be  a  straight  tramp:  but  whatever  he  is, 
he  is  "  down  on  his  luck,"  and  a  drunkard. 
What  little  money  he  had  is  gone,  and  he  has 
tramped  the  street  for  the  past  two  nights, 
poorly  clad,  no  food,  very  little  whiskey,  and 
"  walking  on  his  uppers." 

He  doesn't  know  what  to  do,  and  he  speaks 
to  a  companion  beside  him  and  says :  "  If  I 
have  to  carry  the  banner  to-night,  I'll  be  a  dead 
man  in  the  morning." 

"  You  blankety,  blank  fool,"  says  the  otiio", 


1 14  Down  in  Water  Street 

"  why  don't  you  go  down  to  the  McAuley  Mis- 
sion on  Water  S'treet,  and  go  forward  for  pray- 
ers, and  give  a  good,  stiff  testimony,  and  you 
can  work  Hadley  all  winter." 

"  Well,"  says  the  first  speaker,  "  I  guess  I'll 
*  work  that  graft '  for  all  it  is  worth." 

After  getting  the  necessary  instructions  he 
comes  down,  and  when  the  invitation  is  given, 
up  he  comes  with  fifteen  or  twenty  others,  prac- 
tically of  the  same  stripe. 

Reader,  this  can  never  be  told  as  it  is.  A 
stranger  would  see  nothing  of  this,  but  to  us 
who  have  been  all  through  this  very  thing,  and 
have  been  saved  out  of  it,  it  is  an  awful,  living 
reality. 

We  take  our  seats  quietly  and  orderly.  I 
know  that  all  our  converts  are  lifting  their 
hearts  in  prayer  to  God  for  these  men.  I  speak 
of  the  promises  of  Jesus  and  His  tender  com- 
passion to  sinners.  No  matter  what  motive 
prompted  them  to  come  up,  here  they  are  at 
our  blood-bought  mercy-seat.  They  are  men 
with  a  history,  every  one  of  them.  We  pity 
them — ^yes,  we  love  them.  We  love  them  just 
because  they  are  lost  and  poor  and  wretched 
and  deceitful  and  utterly  friendless  in  this  great 
city.     One  glance  gives  us  as  much  knowledge 


The  Dcvirs  Castaways  115 

of  their  character  and  history  as  if  we  had 
known  them  for  years.  We  repeat  some  pre- 
cious promise  of  Jesus,  and  we  all  get  on  our 
knees  in  prayer.  The  leader  calls  on  some  one 
to  take  these  cases  to  Jesus,  and  all  the  con- 
verts help  him  in  a  tender,  loving  spirit  to  sup- 
plicate the  Throne  of  Grace  for  these  poor 
helpless  men. 

Then  we  sing  a  verse,  low  and  reverently,  on 
our  khees.     Perhaps  it  is : 

"  Tempted  and  tried,  I  need  a  great  Saviour ; 
One  who  will  help  my  burdens  to  bear ; 
1  must  tell  Jesus !    I  must  tell  Jesus ! 
He  all  my  cares  and  sorrows  will  share." 

Then  the  leader  goes  around  while  all  re- 
main on  their  knees,  and  asks  each  one  to  pray 
for  himself.  This  is  the  critical  time.  These 
poor  men  had  no  idea  that  they  would  get  mto 
any  water  as  deep  as  this.  They  hesitate.  We 
say: 

"  My  brother,  pray  for  yourself.  Jesus 
loves  you.  Tell  Him  all  about  yourself."  The 
poor  fraud  trembles.  The  perspiration  breaks 
out  on  his  face.  Thoughts  of  home,  mother 
and  innocent  childhood,  the  Bible  and  the  fam- 
ily altar  crowd  upon  his  memory  with  light- 


Ii6  Down  in  Water  Street 

ning  rapidity — thoughts  he  had  supposed  to  be 
dead  and  buried  long  ago. 

"  Dear  brother,"  says  the  leader,  "  why  do 
you  hesitate?  Why  do  you  refuse  to  call  on 
the  best  Friend  you  ever  had?  Tell  Him  all 
about  it."  Then  with  a  breaking  heart  he 
cries : 

"  Oh,  God !  For  Jesus'  sake,  be  merciful 
to  me,  a  sinner."  We  never  rise  until  all  have 
prayed. 

After  we  have  taken  our  seats,  the  leader 
calls  their  attention  to  some  promise  for  their 
special  case.  We  lay  great  stress  on  the  prom- 
ises of  Jesus. 

"  Now,"  the  leader  says,  "  we  have  knelt  and 
told  Jesus  all  about  ourselves.  If  any  one  has 
found  a  place  to  stand,  or  has  come  to  any  con- 
clusion as  to  what  he  is  going  to  do,  he  has  the 
privilege  of  saying  so." 

One  after  another  rises  in  his  place,  and  with 
the  kindly,  loving  eyes  of  every  convert  upon 
him,  makes  his  statement.  Our  friend  from 
City  Hall  Park,  after  much  hesitation,  stands 
up,  trembling,  and  says: 

"  This  thing  has  turned  out  very  different 
from  what  I  expected.  I  am  a  stranger  in  this 
city,  and  have  only  been  here  a  few  days.     I 


The  Devil's  Castaways  117 

am  almost  naked  and  barefoot,  and  have 
walked  the  streets  all  night.  In  the  park  a 
man  told  me  that  if  I  would  come  down  here 
and  go  forward  for  prayers,  I  could  get  a  place 
to  sleep  and  something  to  eat.  I  must  acknowl- 
edge I  came  here  for  that  purpose,  but  when  I 
got  on  my  knees  and  was  asked  to  pray. 
I  could  not  be  a  hypocrite,  and  I  asked 
Godi,  for  Jcsua'  sake,  to  save  fne,  and 
He  has  done  it.  I  believe  I  can  walk 
the  streets  now."  But  he  does  not  have 
to  do  that.  This  man  has  landed  on  solid 
ground,  and  it  is  our  pleasure  to  help  him  along 
to  success. 

We  have  had  many,  though,  who  played  the 
game  right  through.  They  were  the  first  ones 
to  pray  and  the  first  ones  to  speak.  One  would 
say: 

"  Thank  God,  I  am  saved ;  there's  no  doubt 
about  it."     The  leader  would  add : 

"  Praise  the  Lord !  Indeed,  I  think  that  is 
something  to  praise  God  for,  that  you  can  say 
you  are  saved."  Perhaps  the  fraud  winces, 
but  goes  on  and  speaks  every  night  for  a  month. 
All  the  converts  who  are  testifying  with  pray- 
erful sincerity  know  that  every  word  he  says 
is  a  lie,  but  it  won't  do  to  tell  him  so,  or  you 


ii8  Down  in  Water  Street 

will  lose  your  man.  We  keep  praying,  keep 
loving  and  keep  believing.  Give  the  man  all 
the  rope  he  wants,  and  he  will  be  sure  to  hang 
himself.  If  you  were  to  call  him  aside  and 
tell  him  you  knew  he  was  lying,  it  would  be  a 
boon  to  him.  Every  night  he  gets  his  ticket 
for  a  place  to  sleep,  and  twice  a  day  he  gets 
some  food.  He  has  also  been  made  clean  and 
respectable  in  appearance.  After  a  while  he 
halts  and  doesn't  speak.  The  leader  will  call 
out: 

"  George,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  to 
night?  Haven't  you  anything  to  thank  God 
for  ?  "     He  slowly  gets  to  his  feet  and  says : 

"  Mr.  Hadley,  every  word  I  have  spoken 
since  I  came  in  this  place  is  a  lie.  Is  there  any 
hope  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  my  brother,  there  is  hope  for 
you.  Come  up  here,  and  let  us  tell  Jesus  all 
about  it;  "  and  he  comes  up  sobbing  and  pros- 
trates himself  before  God.  We  all  gather 
around  him  and  help  pray  him  through.  This 
time  the  start  is  genuine. 

We  have  every  phase  of  the  devil's  power  to 
combat  here.  A  man  comes  forward  for  pray- 
ers, a  perfect  tramp.  We  pray  with  him,  and 
he  makes  a  start.     We  find  that  he  has  a  wife 


The  Devil's  Castaways  119 

and  children  somewhere,  and  we  get  them 
together  and  build  a  little  home.  He  secures 
employment  after  a  long  time,  and  prospers. 
He  gets  a  bank  account,  and  finally,  because  his 
means  will  allow  it  and  because  it  will  be  nearer 
his  work,  he  moves  uptown  and  has  a  pretty 
little  flat.  He  joins  an  uptown  church,  and 
at  the  prayer-meeting  he  stands  up  at  the  first 
opportunity  and  says  that  so  many  years  and 
months  and  days  ago  he  came,  a  homeless 
drunkard,  to  the  Water  Street  Mission  and 
there  Jesus  met  him  and  saved  him;  that  his 
loved  ones  were  restored,  and  that  he  has  em- 
ployment and  home  and  Heaven.  He  does  not 
find  the  same  sympathy  there  that  he  expects. 
Some  dear  old  saints  give  a  groan,  and  he  fears 
he  has  made  a  mistake.  He  is  certain  of  it 
when  at  the  close  of  the  service  a  good  brother 
comes  up  and  says: 

"  Now,  my  friend,  see  here.  Why  do  you 
tell  that  dreadful  story?  Are  you  not  saved 
from  that  life,  and  don't  you  want  to  forget  it  ? 
I  would  not  tell  that  story  any  more.  It  don't 
sound  well  up  here."  Our  convert  has  had  his 
eyes  opened. 

"Why,  yes,  certainly,"  he  says;  "I'd  love 
to  forget  it,  of  course  I  would." 


120  Down  In  Water  Street 

After  that  his  testimony  is  of  little  account 
for  the  glory  of  God  or  the  salvation  of  sinners. 
He  is  gratified  at  the  ease  with  which  he  can 
be  an  acceptable  church  member.  He  has  lost 
his  testimony,  and  the  mid-week  service  has 
lost  its  charm.  Instead  of  going  with  his  wife 
and  children,  he  strolls  out  on  the  street,  looks 
in  the  windows,  reads  the  bill-boards  in  front 
of  the  theatre,  and  finally  goes  in  to  see  the 
play.  Soon  after,  I  get  a  letter  from  the  wife. 
It  is  all  blurred  with  tears : 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hadley,  do  come  up  and  see  us  as 
soon  as  you  can.  We  are  in  great  trouble."  I 
go  and  find  the  poor  husband  and  father  dead 
drunk  in  the  bed-room.  The  heart-broken  wife 
is  in  another  room  crying,  and  well  may  she 
cry.  The  little  ones  are  clinging  to  their 
mother's  dress,  weeping  also.  Already  an  in- 
tuition of  some  dread  calamity  has  entered  their 
minds.  I  wait  until  the  man  wakes  from  his 
drunken  sleep.  I  talk  with  him;  I  pray  with 
him.  He  promises  everything  and  means  noth- 
ing. He  goes  on  downward.  He  sells  every- 
thing, piece  by  piece,  at  the  pawnshop — the 
bedding,  the  household  furniture,  down  to  the 
children's  clothes  and  shoes,  and  they  are  dis- 
possessed from  their  home — all  for  rum! 


The  Devil's  Castaways  121 

I  have  to  stand  by  the  poor,  heart-broken 
vvife  and  Httle  ones.  Finally,  in  the  throes  of 
delirium  tremens,  almost  a  dead  man,  he  comes 
back.  Once  in  Water  Street,  always  in  Water 
Street!  Thank  God!  There  is  no  one  else 
that  will  take  him,  and  he  must  come  back.  He 
makes  another  start.  I  get  the  things  out  of 
pawn,  and  start  the  little  home  again.  It  is 
harder  this  time  to  get  work,  but  after  a  while 
he  gets  a  job.  He  falls  again  and  again — 
lower  every  time,  but  at  last,  after  perhaps  five 
years,  he  comes  in  utterly  discouraged  by  all 
his  failures,  and  with  the  cry  of  the  publican 
he  falls  at  Jesus*  feet,  and  5s  anchored  this 
time  to  the  blessed  Redeemer. 

You  cannot  fool  him  now.  He  gives  up  to- 
bacco and  "  every  other  weight,  and  the  sin 
which  doth  so  easily  beset "  him,  and  begins 
again  to  "  run  with  patience  the  race  that  is  set 
before  him,  looking  unto  Jesus  "  always. 

Is  it  any  wonder  the  disciples  asked  our 
Lord :  "  Master,  are  there  few  that  be  saved  ?  " 

Now,  I  want  to  record  here,  that  after  all 
this  fight  I  found  that  on  the  first  night  this 
man  came  up  for  prayers  and  made  a  start, 
Jesus  touched  his  guilty  soul  with  His  most 
precious  blood,  and  the  devil,  though  he  rent 


122  Down  in  Water  Street 

him  sore,  could  never  undo  what  was  done  by 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  "  Thine  own  wicked- 
ness shall  correct  thee,  and  thy  backslidings 
shall  reprove  thee;  know  therefore  and  see, 
that  it  is  an  evil  thing  and  bitter,  that  thou  hast 
forsaken  the  Lord,  thy  <^od."  (Jeremiah  ii: 
19.) 

"  Grace  will  complete  what  grace  begins, 
To  save  from  sorrows  and  from  sins; 
He  who  that  wisdom  undertakes. 
Eternal  mercy  ne'er  forsakes. " 


THE  REFUGE  OF  CROOKS 


,f 


IX 

THE   REFUGE   OF   CROOKS 

THERE  is  a  wonderful  drawing  power 
in  the  Old  McAuley  Mission  for  crooked 
men.  Perhaps  more  crooks  have  crossed 
our  threshold  than  any  other  public  building  in 
this  city  except  the  Tombs  Prison.  The  Mis- 
sion was  started  by  a  famous  crook,  and  its 
reputation  is  world-wide.  It  has  been  carried 
on  ever  since  by  men  who  came  from  a  crooked 
life,  and  it  has  become  generally  known  all  over 
the  world  that  a  crooked  man  will  always  find  a 
welcome  here.  He  will  not  be  preached  to, 
lectured  nor  scolded,  but  he  will  be  treated 
kindly;  in  some  way  or  other  crooked  men 
believe  in  the  genuineness  of  this  Mission. 

I  have  known  men  to  come  from  distant 
cities  far  away  to  the  Old  McAuley  Mission 
when  they  had  made  up  their  mind  that  they 
were  going  to  turn  away  from  a  dissipated  life. 
They  got  an  idea  that  here  was  the  place  to  do 
it;    that  there  was  some  sort  of  glory  here 

I2S 


126  Down  in  Water  Street 

which  beamed  upon  the  crooked  man  that  could 
not  be  found  elsewhere. 

Jerry  McAuley  was  a  notorious  crook  in  his 
sinful  life,  but  when  he  began  to  preach  the 
glorious  Gospel  of  salvation  through  Jesus 
Christ,  in  his  own  homely  and  genuine  way, 
people  began  to  have  faith  in  him  and  they 
came  in  great  numbers. 

One  of  the  famous  men  who  were  converted 
here  was  Mike  Dunn,  a  very  historic  character. 
Mike  Dunn  was  born  in  Ireland.  His  father 
was  a  thief;  his  mother  was  a  thief,  and  every 
member  of  the  family,  as  far  as  I  can  learn, 
was  a  thief.  His  father  was  transported  to 
Van  Dieman's  Land  for  almost  a  lifetime  sen- 
tence. Before  Mike  was  ten  years  old  his 
mother,  his  aunt  and  himself  all  found  them- 
selves locked  up  in  prison  on  separate  charges 
for  stealing,  and  at  last  were  put  into  one  cell. 
When  Mike  came  over  here,  he  made  no  im- 
provement in  himself,  but  went  to  stealing  for 
a  living.  He  served  term  after  term  in  the 
State  Prison  until  thirty-six  years  had  been 
spent  behind  the  bars.  The  last  time  he  left 
Sing  Sing  Prison  the  writer  was  told  by  Mr. 
Connaughton,  the  head-keeper,  that  he  said: 


The  Refuge  of  Crooks  127 

"  Mike,  I  will  keep  a  cell  for  you,  for  I  know 
you  will  be  back  in  a  short  time."  Mike  waited 
on  the  head-keeper,  and  they  were  great 
friends.  He  told  Mr.  Connaughton  that  he 
would  never  see  him  back  there  again,  but  as  he 
said  that  every  time,  no  one  believed  him. 

He  came  to  the  Old  McAuley  Water  Street 
Mission,  and  here  Jesus  spoke  to  the  poor, 
hardened  soul.  There  seemed  to  be  a  power 
here  that  he  had  been  a  stranger  to  before  this 
time,  and  emotions  filled  his  breast  which  he 
had  never  before  known.  He  came  up  to  the 
mercy-seat  with  the  rest,  and  Jesus  saved  him, 
and  to  the  day  of  his  death  he  never  returned 
to  the  old  life.  He  went  across  the  way  from 
the  Mission,  and  started  a  Home  in  a  cellar 
for  poor,  helpless  ex-convicts  who,  like  himself, 
had  nowhere  to  go.  It  was  simply  a  matter  of 
faith,  although  poor  Mike  did  not  know  much 
of  faith  at  that  time,  but  God  was  leading  him. 
His  cellar  was  quickly  filled,  and  one  after 
another  got  work  and  helped  along  with  their 
wages,  what  little  they  could  make,  to  put  into 
their  household  treasure.  From  there  he  went 
to  Bleecker  Street,  to  a  better  Home,  then  to 
Mulberry  Street,  n^r  Hoyston,  to  a  very  nige 


128  Down  in  Water  Street 

Home  indeed.  Mr.  R.  Fulton  Cutting,  Jolin 
Noble  Stearns,  John  H.  Boswell  and  A.  S. 
Hatch  were  his  trustees. 

Mike  and  Jerry  never  agreed  very  well — 
they  were  both  Irishmen  and  too  nearly  alike : 
but  both  did  glorious  work  in  their  respective 
spheres.  From  the  work  at  Mulberry  Street 
Mike  went  to  Detroit  and  opened  a  Home; 
from  there  he  went  to  San  Francisco,  and  later 
to  Philadelphia  and  Brooklyn,  where  he  opened 
similar  Homes;  he  started  the  work  which 
is  now  carried  on  by  the  Brooklyn  City 
Mission,  under  the  supervision  of  Darwin  J. 
Meserole.  It  was  there  that  Mike  died,  and, 
although  he  had  passed  through  some  very  se- 
vere tests  in  the  way  of  false  friends  and  the 
desertion  of  his  wife  (who  never  was  in  sym- 
pathy with  him),  he  was  faithful  to  the  last, 
and  died  triumphant,  trusting  in  Jesus.  He 
had  been  brought  up  in  the  Roman  Catholic 
faith,  the  same  as  Jerry  McAuley,  but  that 
church  had  no  attraction  for  either  of  them 
after  they  had  met  Jesus.  Well  do  I  remem- 
ber the  funeral  sermon  over  Mike  Dunn's  life- 
less remains  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Lyman  Abbott; 
its  tender  eloquence  will  never  be  effaced  from 
my  memory. 


The  Refuge  of  Crooks  12^ 

Another  character  of  this  class  that  I  wish 
to  mention  is  Philip  McGuire— "  Old  Phil," 
as  we  call  him.  He  was  born  near  the  town  of 
Mullingar,  West  Meath  County,  Ireland,  March 
17,  183 1.  He  came  to  America  when  about 
two  or  three  years  of  age,  and  was  brought  up 
chiefly  in  the  Fourth  Ward.  He  was  a  thief 
in  childhood,  and  was  in  the  House  of  Refuge 
three  times.  Twice  he  ran  away,  and  once  his 
father  took  him  out.  The  last  time  he  was 
sent  away  on  a  whaling  voyage  for  three  years 
around  the  world.  He  served  twenty  years  at 
various  times  in  different  prisons.  Before  he 
was  twelve  years  of  age,  he  was  arrested  three 
times  for  stealing.  In  his  second  term  in  Sing 
Sing  Prison,  he  became  acquainted  with  Jerry 
McAuley.  He  was  sitting  by  his  side  on  the 
front  bench  that  eventful  morning  when  old 
"  Awful  Gardner "  spoke  to  the  prisoners, 
and  was  the  means  of  turning  Jerry  from  an 
evil  life. 

I  will  not  undertake  to  tell  of  the  various 
crimes  that  Phil  committed,  and  for  which  he 
was  sent  to  prison,  as  a  recital  of  them  would 
fill  a  much  larger  book  than  this. 

When  Phil  got  out,  he  met  Jerry  McAuley 
on  the  street,  and  they  greeted  each  other  and 


130  Down  in  Water  Street 

shook  hands,  and  then  Jerry  asked  him  to  come 
down  to  his  Mission.  He  did  not  know  what 
a  Mission  was,  but  he  came  down  here  and 
made  a  start,  such  as  it  was.  About  that  time 
they  were  tearing  down  the  old  frame  building 
and  erecting  the  present  building  in  its  place, 
and  Old  Phil  was  an  all-round  help — cook,  etc. 

One  day  a  man  came  along  who  had  prom- 
ised to  help  Jerry  with  the  new  building,  and, 
as  neither  Jerry  nor  Maria  was  there,  he  gave 
Phil  nine  hundred  dollars  in  cash  to  give  to 
Jerry,  every  cent  of  which  was  faithfully 
turned  over.  But  Phil  was  not  faithful  all  the 
way  through;  he  had  promised  and  professed 
to  give  up  tobacco,  but  Jerry  caught  him  smok- 
ing, and  always  suspected  him.  It  was  not 
long  after  that  Phil  began  to  drink,  and  one 
day  he  robbed  the  Poor  Box  down  stairs  of  ten 
dollars.  At  last  a  trap  was  set  for  him;  the 
money  was  marked.  It  was  found  on  him, 
and  he  was  arrested,  and  Jerry  sent  him  back 
to  prison.  After  this,  there  was  a  period  of 
seventeen  long  years  of  debauchery  and  drunk- 
enness. 

On  the  23d  of  November,  1892,  Old  Phil 
came  again  to  Water  Street.  He  was  so  drunk 
he  could  hardly  walk  up  the  aisle,  but  he  knelt 


PHILIP   McGUIRE. 


The  Refuge  of  Crooks  131 

down  with  the  crowd  and  gave  his  poor,  weary 
soul  to  Jesus.  From  that  day  to  this,  ten 
years,  I  bear  witness  to  the  faithfulness,  hon- 
esty and  Christian  character  of  our  dear 
brother,  Philip  McGuire.  I  have  known  him 
every  hour  since;  he  has  been  our  janitor  here 
for  yeais,  and  a  truer  man  never  breathed. 
He  worked  in  a  lodging-house  after  his  con- 
version for  a  couple  of  years.  It  was  a  hard 
place;  the  hours  were  long,  the  wages  poor  and 
the  crowd  very  trying,  but  he  went  through 
it.  One  morning,  after  having  worked  all 
night,  he  came  in  to  see  me  and  said  that  he 
had  something  that  he  wanted  to  tell  me.  I 
sat  down  in  my  office  and  told  him  to  go  ahead. 
And  he  said : 

"  Brother  Hadley,  the  devil  is  after  me;  I 
robbed  the  Poor  Box  of  ten  dollars  in  the  old 
life,  and  the  devil  tells  me  that  because  '  I  done 
time  for  it '  it  is  mine,  but  Jesus  says :  *  No, 
pay  it  back; '  and  he  handed  me  five  two  dollar 
bills.  I  took  them,  and  took  his  hand  with 
them,  and  with  my  dear  wife  we  knelt  down 
and  thanked  God  for  the  conscience  He  had  put 
in  dear  Old  Phil. 

On  his  last  anniversary  he  said :  "  I  tried  to 
sober  up  for  years  to  get  back  to  the  dear  ol4 


13*  Down  in  Water  Street 

Mission,  but  I  could  not,  the  appetite  was  so 
strong;  so  at  last  I  came  in  drunk  and  stag- 
gered to  the  altar.  I  was  saved  that  night,  and 
the  Lord  has  kept  me  ever  since.  The  next 
day  Mr.  Hadley  gave  me  twenty-five  cents. 
Twelve  cents  I  paid  to  get  my  shirt  out  of 
pawn,  and  I  have  never  been  broke  since.  I 
am  not  afraid  of  officers  now,  and  when  I  meet 
a  policeman  he  bows  to  me." 

He  also  said :  "  When  I  served  the  devil,  I 
was  never  satisfied.  I  worked  ten  years  at  one 
time  for  fifteen  dollars  a  week,  and  when  I  was 
laid  off  I  had  not  money  enough  to  keep  me 
one  week.  When  I  began  to  serve  the  Lord  I 
worked  for  three  years  for  five  dollars  a  week, 
and  when  I  was  laid  off  I  had  money  enough 
to  keep  me  four  months  and  some  to  spare." 

He  is  seventy-three  years  of  age  now,  and 
very  feeble,  but  still  takes  charge  of  the  work 
down  stairs. 

"  Oh,  what  a  Redeemer 

Is  Jesus,  my  Saviour! 
Forgiving  my  sins,  and 

Bearing  all  my  woe  I 
Oh,  what  a  Redeemer 

Is  Jesus,  my  Saviour, 
Proclaiming  my  liberty, 

And  washing  me  white  as  snow  I  ** 


OLD  UNCLE  REUB 


OLD   UNCLE   REUB 

ONE  of  the  peculiarities  of  our  work  in 
Water  Street  is  that  men  will  return 
again  and  again,  though  they  may  stay 
away  for  a  while  and  fall  apparently  beyond  the 
hope  of  redemption;  still  they  come  back,  and 
keep  coming  back.  We  believe  that,  if  the 
true,  clean  Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ  is  preached 
and  testified  to  with  honest,  loving  hearts,  it 
will  make  an  impression,  whether  sinners  ac- 
knowledge it  or  not  at  the  time,  and  will  bring 
people  back  to  the  same  spot.  One  of  the  most 
notable  evidences  of  this  statement  can  be 
found  in  the  conversion  of  Mr.  Reuben  John- 
ston, or,  as  the  boys  all  call  him,  "  Old  Uncle 
Reub." 

He  was  born  at  the  corner  of  Ludlow  and 
Walker  Streets,  (now  Canal)  in  1821.  When 
fourteen  years  of  age,  he  found  employment 
as  "  fly  boy  "  on  "  The  Journal  of  Commerce," 
at  Wall  and  Water  Streets,  and  from  there  to 
George  S.  Nesbitt's  job  printing  office,  in  the 
235 


136  Down  in  Water  Street 

old  Tontine  Building  in  Wall  Street.  Every 
time  he  changed  his  employment,  it  was  for 
the  better,  and  another  year  found  him  the 
feeder  in  the  press-room  of  a  morning  news- 
paper. He  was  of  a  social  disposition,  and 
soon  learned  to  take  a  glass  of  beer  with  the 
men  on  pay  day,  and  once  in  a  while  a  glass  of 
gin;  but  he  did  not  form  the  drinking  habit 
then.  At  twenty  years  of  age  he  was  em- 
ployed in  the  press-room  of  "  The  New  York 
Herald "  under  old  James  Gordon  Bennett, 
where  he  remained  for  eighteen  years. 

As  his  wages  increased,  he  drank  more  fre- 
quently, but  he  never  dreamed  that  he  might 
some  day  become  a  slave  to  the  habit.  At  thirty 
he  married,  and  a  few  years  later  lost  his 
mother,  and  soon  after  his  wife  died.  While 
his  wife  was  living,  he  indulged  in  an  occa- 
sional glass,  and  although  he  could  endure 
physical  suffering,  he  could  not  endure  mental 
anguish,  and  reverted  to  rum  for  solace. 

From  "  The  Herald "  he  passed  over  to 
another  newspaper,  and  remained  there  for 
fourteen  years.  During  that  time  he  had 
charge  of  the  folding  department  of  a  weekly 
journal.  He  was  one  of  the  six  selected  in 
May,  1856,  to  take  the  Hoe  Pioneer  Press  to 


Old  Uncle  Reub  137 

London  and  set  it  up  in  the  office  of  "  Lloyd's 
Weekly." 

After  this  time  the  drink  habit  enslaved  him ; 
he  drank  steadily  now,  and  before  long  he  lost 
his  employment,  and  had  to  give  up  the  print- 
ing business  when  he  was  fifty  years  of  age. 
In  the  hope  of  being  cured  of  this  habit,  he 
went  to  an  inebriate  asylum.  There  was  no 
Christian  influence  in  this  place,  and  when  he 
left  he  began  to  drink  again,  and  for  years  lived 
the  life  of  a  drunken  sot.  He  was  known 
around  among  the  fraternity,  and  when  he 
came  around  where  his  old  acquaintances  were 
they  knew  what  he  wanted,  and  tossed  him  a 
coin,  and  even  though  he  was  hungry  he  would 
spend  his  last  cent  for  rum. 

I  often  wished  that  Uncle  Reub  would  stay 
out  of  this  Mission,  and  tried  to  keep  him  out, 
but  he  came  back.  He  would  wait  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  room  when  drunk,  and  when  the  in- 
vitation came  to  kneel  down  he  would  say : 

"  Wait  until  I  get  there;  don't  you  want 
me?"  He  would  come  up  and  kneel  down 
with  the  rest,  nudge  them  in  the  ribs,  and  whis- 
per to  them,  and  get  them  to  laughing,  and  spoil 
our  services.  One  night  I  picked  him  up  by 
the  back  of  his  neck  and  his  breeches,  and  took 


138  Down  in  Water  Street 

him  kicking  out  of  the  room,  but  he  was  back 
and  kneeling  down  before  I  was.  As  soon  as 
the  meeting  was  dismissed  he  would  take  a 
seat  in  the  front  of  the  room  and  never  leave 
until  he  had  tackled  every  stranger  for  a  coin 
to  get  "  something  to  eat  and  a  place  to  sleep." 

One  night  a  lady  from  uptown  came  to  our 
meeting.  She  did  not  understand  the  ways  of 
Water  Street,  but  was  greatly  interested  in 
Uncle  Reub.  He  was  a  frail  looking  man  with 
pale  face  and  hair  white  as  snow.  He  gen- 
erally had  on  a  linen  duster  in  the  winter  time 
and  an  ulster  overcoat  in  the  summer  time — 
something  always  he  could  not  pawn.  It  was 
a  roasting  hot  July  night,  and  this  lady  came 
up  to  me  and  said : 

"  Mr.  Hadley,  why  don't  the  poor  old  man 
take  off  his  overcoat  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  ask  him."  She 
stepped  forward  so  graciously  and  kindly,  and 
said: 

"  Dear  sir,  why  don't  you  remove  your  over- 
coat ?  "     He  looked  up  innocently  and  said : 

"  I  am  afraid  to."  Slie  thought  perhaps  he 
meant  that  he  might  take  cold,  and  said : 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  it  would  walk  off."     She  came 


Old  Uncle  Reub  139 

back  to  me  with  her  face  crimson,  and  said: 
"  I  guess  I  will  never  ask  any  more  questions 
in  Water  Street." 

One  day  as  I  came  along  in  the  street  car,  T 
noticed  old  Uncle  Reub  sitting  in  a  vacant 
doorway,  drunk  and  fast  asleep,  with  the  rain 
pouring  down  upon  him.  I  said  to  myself: 
"  Poor  Uncle  Reub,  he  won't  last  long;  is  there 
no  help  for  him  ?  "  That  night,  just  as  we 
were  giving  the  invitation,  he  came  in  the  door. 
We  were  singing : 

"  How  patient  hath  My  Spirit  been. 
To  follow  thee  through  all  thy  sin. 
And  seek  thy  wayward  soul  to  win ; 
My  son,  give  Me  thine  heart." 

A  Student  from  Yale  College  was  with  me  at 
the  time,  and  I  said :  "  Brother  Harrison,  go 
down  and  bring  that  old  man  forward."  He 
came,  but  oh,  how  trembling,  how  different 
now !  He  dropped  on  his  knees  and  cried  for 
mercy.  We  surrounded  him  with  our  arms 
and  our  love  and  our  faith — yes,  we  remitted 
his  sins  (John  xx:  23),  and  there,  in  one  mo- 
ment's time  that  poor  old  drunken  tramp,  who 
had  been  nine  times  in  one  institution  and  nine 
times  in  another,  and  in  his  seventieth  year, 


140  Down  in  Water  Street 

was  bom  again.  From  that  time  to  this  time, 
now  eleven  years,  he  has  not  known  the  taste 
of  drink  or  even  desire  for  it. 

"  Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul :   and  all  that 
is  within  me,  bless  and  praise  His  holy  name !  " 


OLD  POP  LLOYD 


XI 

OLD   POP   LLOYD 

MANY  strange  and  pathetic  scenes  have 
been  witnessed  in  the  Old  McAuley 
Mission,  but  perhaps  none  Hke  the  fol- 
lowing which  took  place  one  evening  there : 

On  stools  in  front  of  the  platform  rested  a 
coffin,  a  very  respectable  one,  with  three  mas- 
sive handles  on  each  side.  A  floral  anchor  lay 
in  the  center  and  at  the  foot  a  sheaf  of  wheat. 
Inside  the  coffin  lay  the  body  of  old  Pop  Lloyd. 
The  face  was  peaceable  and  serene,  and  there 
was  no  indication  of  the  tempestuous  life 
through  which  he  had  passed,  but  the  calm  look 
of  repose  spoke  eloquently :  "  Though  I  walk 
through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I 
will  fear  no  evil,  for  Thou  art  with  me;  Thy 
rod  and  Thy  staff  they  comfort  me." 

On  the  platform  was  the  Rev.  W.  W.  Bow- 
dish,  then  the  pastor  of  the  John  Street  Metho- 
dist Episcopal  Church  (Old  Pop's  pastor),  and 
also  the  Rev.  Stephen  Merritt,  a  true  friend  of 
the  Mission.  The  chapel  was  filled  with  many 
converts;  they  were  a  set  of  men  who  had 
143 


144  Down  In  Water  Street 

learned  to  love  Old  Pop.  Every  one  had  come 
into  the  place  just  as  he  had — a  drunkard  and  a 
homeless  outcast. 

Five  years  before,  Old  Pop  came  into  the 
Mission  one  night  and  took  a  seat  on  the  back 
bench.  He  was  seventy-five  years  old,  and 
was  covered  with  rags  and  dirt  and  vermin, 
and  bent  nearly  double.  He  had  not  slept  in 
a  bed  for  weeks.  When  the  invitation  was 
given  to  those  who  wished  to  seek  the  Saviour 
for  the  pardon  of  their  sins,  Mrs.  Sarah  Sher- 
wood, our  missionary,  spoke  to  him  and  invited 
him  to  come  forward.  He  asked  her  if  she 
thought  there  was  any  hope  for  the  worst  man 
in  New  York.     She  said : 

"  YeS;  whosoever  will  may  come."  He 
came,  and  was  converted  to  God,  and  from  that 
night  he  never  tasted  whiskey  or  tobacco,  which 
for  years  had  been  his  chief  articles  of  diet. 

Old  Pop  had  been  a  great  character  in  his 
day.  He  was  born  on  the  high  seas,  and  con- 
tinued to  rove  there  almost  all  of  his  early  life, 
and  once  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  pretty 
successful  buccaneer.  He  was  once  transported 
to  Van  Dieman's  land  for  ten  years,  and  while 
in  Australia  would  have  been  hanged  for  mur- 
der, but  escaped  from  prison.  He  had  been  quite 


um  rop  JLloyd  145 

well  to  do  forty  years  prior  to  this,  and  had 
sailed  his  own  vessel  out  of  this  port.  For  the 
last  three  years  he  could  do  nothing,  and  was  a 
charge  on  the  Mission,  and  kind  friends  con- 
tributed to  his  support.  He  had  drunk  so  much 
bad  rum  that  his  vocal  chords  were  burnt  out, 
and  he  could  scarcely  make  himself  understood, 
often  giving  his  testimony  in  pantomime, 
stooping  down  low  to  show  how  the  devil  had 
bent  him  over  when  he  came  to  the  Mission, 
then  raising  himself  up  erect  to  show  how 
Christ  took  the  load  off  his  mind  and  soul. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  would 
come  to  the  Mission  and  remain  all  day.  We 
would  take  him  down  three  square  meals  each 
day,  as  his  limbs  were  too  weak  to  carry  him 
up  stairs.  Many  a  time  was  he  seen  giving  his 
food  to  some  poor  tramp,  who  had  slipped  in 
the  door  much  as  a  stray  cat  would  do,  looking 
for  something  to  eat.  No  matter  who  it  was, 
Old  Pop  would  share  his  meal  with  him  if  he 
were  hungry. 

One  day  I  was  sent  for  to  go  to  his  room, 
and  when  I  got  there  I  found  Old  Pop  sinking 
fast.  I  knelt  at  his  bedside  and  put  my  arms 
about  his  neck.  The  sick  man  pulled  my  ear 
down  close  to  his  mouth  and  whispered ; 


146  Down  in  Water  Street 

"  Brother  Hadley,  I  am  going  fast;  but  don't 
be  uneasy;  Jesus  is  with  me,"  and  with  that  he 
breathed  out  his  life  and  went  home  to  God. 

"  Oh,  that  men  would  praise  the  Lord  for 
His  wonderful  works  unto  the  children  ot 
menl" 


BOWERY  IKE'S  CAREER 


XII 

BOWERY   ike's    CAREER 

"  The  worst  unto  My  supper  press, 
Monsters  of  daring  wickedness. 
Tell  them  My  grace  for  all  is  free ; 
They  cannot  be  too  bad  for  Me." 

THIS  wonderful  story  of  God's  love  for 
the  sinner  is  sent  out  with  a  prayer  that 
it  may  catch  the  eye  and  reach  the  heart 
of  many  a  careless  unbeliever,  and  bring  him  to 
know  our  precious  Saviour : 

"  Bowery  Ike  "  obtained  his  name  from  the 
police  and  thieving  companions  on  the  Bowery 
— that  great  avenue  of  crime  in  the  very  heart 
of  Greater  New  York.  He  was  turned  out  of 
home  when  a  child  by  a  cruel  woman  who  had 
charge  of  him,  and  he  was  compelled  to  steal  or 
starve.  He  soon  became  a  proficient  thief,  and 
led  many  older  ones  than  he  into  daring  crime. 
He  was  arrested  and  sent  to  the  Juvenile  Asy- 
lum for  two  years,  where  he  learned  all  that  he 
ever  knew  out  of  books.  He  finally  ran  away, 
and  became  an  expert  thief  and  pickpocket 
149 


150  Down  in  Water  Street 

The  writer  became  acquainted  with  "  Ike  " 
in  a  peculiar  and  Providential  manner.  In  my 
work  as  a  Missionary,  I  was  walking  along  the 
Bowery  after  midnight,  late  in  September, 
1884.  I  heard  my  name  called  from  a  wagon, 
where  two  tramps  were  bivouacking  for  the 
night.  On  going  up  to  see  what  was  wanted, 
one,  who  called  himself  "  Rummy,"  said  he  had 
a  "  friend  "  who  had  got  "  pinched  "  that  day 
for  "  swiping  "  some  watches  from  the  cloth- 
ing of  workmen  in  an  unfinished  building. 

"  He  is  a  fine  thief,"  said  "  Rummy,"  "  but 
he  was  *  full,'  and  unless  I  can  get  some  one  to 
befriend  him  he  will  get  a  long  term  up  the 
river." 

After  providing  for  the  two  boys,  I  promised 
to  meet  them  at  the  Tombs,  where  the  Court 
of  Special  Sessions  was  held,  and  through  some 
influence  I  got  "  Ike  "  off  with  six  months  in 
the  penitentiary  on  Blackwell's  Island.  I  got 
"  Rummy "  work,  and  with  him  visited  his 
friend  on  the  Island. 

I  want  to  place  on  record  here  the  faithful 
friendship  I  have  noticed — ^through  long  years 
of  missionary  work  among  the  criminal  class, — 
that  thieves  and  crooks  have  for  one  another 
when  in  trouble.     It  puts  some  of  us  Christians 


Bowery  Ike's  Career  151 

to  shame.  "  Rummy  "  shared  his  small  pay 
of  five  dollars  a  week  with  his  friend. 
"  Rummy  "  also  came  down  to  Water  Street 
Mission  and  gave  his  heart  to  God,  and  died  a 
few  years  ago,  leaving  a  bright  testimony  that 
he  was  going  to  be  with  Jesus. 

When  "  Ike  "  got  out  of  the  penitentiary,  I 
gave  him  work,  and  through  the  following  ten 
years  he  worked  for  me  most  of  the  time.  I 
always  trusted  him.  Occasionally  he  would 
get  restless  and  start  out  on  the  road.  He  would 
travel  all  over  the  country  free,  in  the  "  side- 
door  Pullmans  " — freight  cars.  When  he  came 
back,  he  would  apply  for  work,  and  I  would 
always  give  it  to  him. 

Finally  he  got  to  be  such  a  drunkard  that  he 
said  he  would  never  work  for  me  again.  The 
first  year  I  hired  Ira  I  made  a  regular  bargain 
with  the  Lord  that  as  I  had  reclaimed  Ira  for 
Him  I  would  pray  for  him  twice  a  day  until 
he  was  saved. 

How  my  faith  was  tried  in  the  years  that 
followed!  He  grew  worse  and  worse  each 
year,  but  the  faith  of  my  wife,  who  had  joined 
me  in  this  fight,  and  my  own,  never  wavered. 

Ike  got  arrested  at  last  for  disorderly  con- 
duct and  was  sent  to  the  Island  for  five  days. 


i^l  Down  in  Water  Street 

He  was  put  to  work  on  the  boat  "  Fidelity," 
which  is  employed  to  carry  dead  bodies  from 
the  Morgue  to  the  Potter's  Field.  The  boat  is 
piled  up  high  with  these  dreadful  boxes,  and 
the  poor  fellow  had  to  eat  his  soup  and  bread 
at  noon  on  one  of  these  boxes  for  a  table.  Dur- 
ing one  of  these  hideous  repasts  he  came  to 
himself  and  said : 

"  Oh,  Lord,  if  I  get  off  this  boat  I  will  go 
down  to  the  Water  Street  Mission."  He  was 
as  good  as  his  word,  and  after  coming  to  our 
place  three  successive  nights  Jesus  spoke  words 
of  peace  and  life  to  his  guilty  soul,  and  "  Bow- 
ery Ike  "  died  forever. 

He  was  in  his  thirtieth  year,  and  his  faith 
was  like  a  child's.  H  he  was  tempted  to  say 
or  do  anything  wrong  through  the  day,  he 
would  stand  up  in  our  testimony  meeting  and 
confess  it  all,  no  matter  what  it  was.  I  saw  at 
once  that  he  had  paid  the  price  and  was  going 
through.  I  finally  decided  to  educate  him  for 
God's  work,  and  Mr.  Walter  M.  Smith,  one 
of  our  beloved  trustees,  helped  me  to  send  hini 
to  the  Moody  Bible  Institute  at  Chicago. 

It  was  a  trying  time,  as  he  had  never  studied, 
and  his  mind  was  untrained,  and  the  course  was 
severe.     He  took  it  all  to  Jesus,  and  received 


Bowery  Ike's  Career  153 

the  strength  snd  knowledge  he  needed.  At  the 
end  of  the  first  year  his  rating  was  ninety-seven 
in  a  possible  one  hundred  in  a  class  of  four 
hundred  and  fifty.  He  was  given,  among  other 
work,  the  Cook  County  Jail  meetings  every 
Sunday  morning,  and  we  believe  God  blessed 
his  work  there  to  the  salvation  of  many  crim- 
inals awaiting  sentence  and  death. 

He  came  home  the  following  October  to  cele- 
brate his  third  anniversary.  He  had  been  gone 
one  year,  and,  dear  reader,  we  hardly  knew 
him.  Never  did  grace  work  such  a  mighty 
change.  The  whole  contour  of  his  face  was 
changed.  His  forehead  had  grown  broad  and 
high,  his  face  and  manners  were  honest  and 
frank,  and  all  traces  of  the  old  life  had  gone. 
Instead  of  the  sharp  cunning  thief  he  was  a 
handsome,  dignified  gentleman.  The  house 
was  crowded,  and  many  of  the  gang  who  had 
come  down  to  his  anniversary  could  scarcely 
believe  their  eyes.  He  went  back  for  six 
nionths'  further  work,  and  was  coming  home 
in  April  to  become  associated  with  me  in  this 
work,  when,  on  March  15,  1899,  he  died  of 
heart  disease.  We  brought  him  home  and 
buried  him  from  dear  Old  Water  Street  Mis- 
sion, on  his  thirty-fourth  birthday.     Crowds 


1^4  Down  in  Water  Street 

of  loving  friends  stood  around  his  coffin,  and 
bathed  in  tears  the  dear  face  of  one  who  had 
come  to  us,  less  than  five  years  before,  an  out- 
cast and  foe  to  humanity. 

Never  shall  those  who  heard  him  forget  his 
last  anniversary,  as  he  stood  up  and,  with  im- 
passioned appeal,  spoke  of  Jesus' s  love  to  sin- 
ners, how  wonderfully  God  had  applied  the 
Word  to  him,  and  how  from  one  end  of  God's 
Holy  Book  to  the  other  he  showed  sinners  how 
they  could  come  and  be  saved  as  he  had  been. 

We  give  herewith  an  extract  from  a  letter 
received  from  Ira  about  his  jail  work  in  Chi- 
cago: 

"  We  had  a  glorious  time  at  the  jail  yester-^ 
day.  The  Holy  Spirit  was  there  in  mighty 
power,  and  the  poor  fellows  just  came  to  Jesus 
eagerly.  We  could  not  handle  all  who  camq 
to  talk  to  us  about  their  souls.  I  read  the 
Thirty-fourth  Psalm,  and  talked  a  little  while 
on  Isaiah  Iv :  3 :  "  Hear,  and  your  soul  shall 
live,"  and  the  Holy  Spirit  carried  conviction 
to  their  hearts.  About  twenty  accepted  Jesus. 
The  poor  fellow  who  wrote  the  letter  that  I 
forwarded  to  you  went  to  the  penitentiary  fof 


IRA  B.  SNYDER. 
▲Ilu  "  Bowery  Ike." 


Bowery  Ike's  Career  155 

an  indefinite  time.  Being  an  habitual  offender 
they  can  keep  him  as  long  as  they  like :  in  other 
words,  they  own  him.  Let  us  pray  for  him. 
I  saw  him  before  he  went  away,  and  he  was 
very  happy,  and  gave  a  bright  testimony  for 
the  Lord.  He  said  he  would  sooner  spend  his 
whole  life  in  prison  serving  Jesus  than  live 
without  Him  a  free  man.  The  Institute  mana- 
ger will  do  what  he  can  for  him  through  the 
chaplain.  He  may  be  able  to  get  light  work 
and  a  little  better  food." 

Also,  a  letter  from  the  Rev.  Dr.  R.  A.  Tor- 
rey,  Superintendent  of  the  Institute,  showing 
how  he  was  esteemed  there: 

"  Mr.  Walter  M.  Smith, 

"115  Worth  Street,  New  York. 
"  My  dear  Sir:  Yours,  March  16,  received. 
I  have  already  written  Mr.  Hadley  about  our 
Brother  Snyder's  death.  It  was  a  sudden  shock 
to  us  all.  There  were  few  men  here  in  the  In- 
stitute for  whom  I  had  as  strong  a  personal 
affection  as  for  Brother  Snyder.  Possibly  this 
may  have  begun  in  view  of  the  depths  from 
which  he  had  been  saved,  but  it  grew  as  I  came 


156  Down  in  Water  Street 

to  know  him  more.  He  certainly  was  a  very 
attractive  Christian.  He  lived  a  beautiful  life 
among  us. 

"  His  life  told  here  in  our  city  with  a  great 
many,  and  his  death  is  beginning  to  tell.  Only 
last  night,  at  one  of  our  missions,  some  man 
who  had  known  Snyder  in  sin  wanted  to  take 
Christ. 

"  I  had  hoped  great  things  for  his  usefulness, 
and  his  death  is  to  me,  in  some  measure,  a  mys- 
tery, but  I  do  not  question  for  a  moment  that 
God's  plans  are  better  than  ours. 
"  Sincerely  yours, 

"  R.  A.  TORREY." 

In  closing  this  account  I  wish  to  bear  testi- 
mony to  the  faithful,  loving  help  of  one  of  our 
beloved  trustees  in  this  matter  of  procuring 
Brother  Snyder's  education  and  helping  him 
along  in  his  religious  life.  Brother  Smith,  one 
of  the  leading  merchants  of  this  city,  loved  him, 
treated  him  as  a  brother,  asked  him  to  his  place 
of  business,  took  him  to  his  lovely  home  some 
miles  out  of  town,  and  took  him  to  his  church, 
and  had  him  speak  to  their  people.  Brother 
Ira  never  forgot  this,  and  repeatedly  spoke  to 
me  about  it,  telling  me  how  encouraged  he  was 
to  press  on,  with  such  loving  friends. 


Altt.    WAL,TER    M.    SMITH. 


Bowery  Ike's  Career  157 

In  one  of  God's  strong  Providences  Brother 
Snyder  will  live  and  speak  for  years  to  come. 
Mr.  Smith  had  been  compelled  to  take  a  rest 
from  his  business  on  account  of  broken-down 
health,  some  months  before  Ira's  death.  He 
had  become  acquainted  with  the  Rev.  R.  F. 
Campbell,  of  Asheville,  N.  C,  and  was  greatly 
interested  in  the  work  that  Mr.  Campbell, 
through  the  Presbytery,  is  doing  among  the 
mountaineers.  As  Brother  Smith  was  going 
to  pay  Ira's  salary  as  my  assistant,  he  decided 
after  his  death  to  devote  that  money  to  Dr. 
Campbell's  work,  and  the  result  is  that  a  splen- 
did church  and  school  have  been  erected,  and 
are  under  full  swing  and  full  of  scholars,  on 
Fine's  Creek,  Hey  wood  Co.,  N.  C,  known  as 
the  Snyder  Memorial  School  and  Chapel. 

These  hardy,  grand  people  so  bereft  of 
church  and  educational  privileges  are  taking 
full  advantage  of  this  blessing,  and  their  chil- 
dren come  for  miles  around  and  crowd  the  day 
school,  the  Sunday  School  and  the  Church. 
"  Though  dead,  he  yet  speaketh." 

"'Twas  grace  that  taught  my  heart  to  fear; 
'Twas  grace  mv  fears  relieved; 
How  precious  did  that  grace  appear 
The  hour  I  first  believed" 


BILLY     KELLY,     THE     EX-BAR- 
KEEPER 


\ 


XIII 

BILLY  KELLY,  THE  EX-BARKEEPER. 

IT  was  Saturday  night.  The  room  was 
packed  until  scarcely  another  soul  could  get 
in.  On  and  near  the  platform  were  crowded 
the  converts — fine,  well-dressed,  handsome 
men,  all  redeemed  drunkards.  The  balance  of 
the  room  was  filled  to  its  utmost  capacity  with 
tramps,  every  one  drunkards  of  the  lowest  type. 
It  was  "  Love  Feast  Night "  in  Water  Street, 
and  it  would  have  done  your  eyes  good  to  see 
the  converts  pass  around  among  the  poor  fel- 
lows, politely  helping  them  to  large  corned- 
beef  sandwiches  and  steaming  bowls  of  savory 
coflFee,  and  speaking  kindly  to  them  when  they 
rudely  grabbed  for  more.  When  all  had  been 
filled  and  the  cups  and  fragments  gathered  up, 
the  real  work  of  the  evening  began. 

A  splendid  looking  man  stood  up  with  the 
Bible  in  his  hand,  and  began  to  read  about 
Jesus,  how  He  "  came  not  to  call  the  righteous 
but  sinners  to  repentance,"  and  how  "  God  so 
loved  the  world  that  He  gave  His  only-bcgot- 
x6x 


1 62  Down  in  "Water  ^reet 

ten  Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  on  Him 
should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life." 
Notwithstanding  his  appearance,  every  one 
could  tell  that  he  had  tasted  the  bitter  cup  to 
the  dregs,  for  as  he  pleaded  in  eloquent  words 
and  tones  to  the  men  before  him  to  give  their 
hearts  to  Jesus,  he  told  how  Christ  had  come 
to  him  when  he  was  down,  a  lost  drunkard, 
without  home  or  friends, 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  hell  with  all  its  tortures 
had  already  begun  in  my  breast;  but,  oh, 
blessed  Jesus!  when  He  came  He  took  it  all 
away ;  and  now,  boys,"  he  added,  "  I  have 
everything  in  this  world  a  man  can  desire,  home 
and  loved  ones  all  restored,  and,  above  all, 
Jesus  in  my  soul,  and  the  desire  for  drink  all 
gone.     Who  will  come  to  Jesus  to-night?" 

The  first  man  to  raise  his  hand  was  Billy 
Kelly,  a  poor,  half-crazy  man  about  thirty-six 
years  old,  who  was  suffering  then  with  delirium 
tremens.  With  a  crowd  of  over  twenty  he 
came  forward  and  knelt  at  those  "  tear-stained 
benches."  All  was  hushed  now  except  the 
smothered  sobs  of  the  seekers.  Then  one 
raised  his  voice  in  earnest,  beseeching  prayer 
that  Jesus  would  come  then  and  there  and  save 
those  poor,  dying  souls  and  wash  them  in  His 


Billy  Kelly,  the  Ex -Barkeeper      163 

precious  blood.  The  unsaved  part  of  the  crowd 
looked  on  in  curiosity,  but  with  respectful 
silence. 

As  the  custom  is  in  Water  Street,  all  the 
seekers  were  asked  to  pray  aloud  for  them- 
selves. When  it  came  to  Billy  Kelly's  turn,  he 
threw  back  his  head  and  looking  up  to  the  ceil- 
ing, said: 

"  Oh,  Jesus,  give  me  sleep;  dear  Jesus,  give 
me  sleep.  Give  me  sleep,  or  I'll  die."  All  the 
converts  knew  just  what  that  meant.  Men 
with  the  "  horrors "  die  for  want  of  sleep. 
They  cannot  sleep,  for  when  they  close  their 
eyes  the  most  hideous  sights  present  themselves 
and  render  sleep  impossible.  At  once  the  con- 
verts rallied  around  him. 

"  Amen,  my  brother,"  they  said.  "  Only 
trust  Jesus ;  He  will  give  you  sleep.  Come  to 
Him  just  as  you  are.  He  will  save  you.  He 
will  give  you  sleep."  When  we  arose  from  our 
knees  Billy  Kelly  was  a  saved  man.  He  was 
sent  to  a  lodging  house  that  night  and  slept 
thirteen  hours.  He  came  back  and  sat  in  the 
Mission  all  the  next  day.  We  stripped  him  of 
his  rags  and  put  clean  clothing  on  him.  His 
strength  as  well  as  his  mind  was  nearly  gone. 

For  over  three  months  we  kept  dear  Billy  at 


164  Down  in  Water  Street 

the  Mission,  where  he  sat  nearly  all  day  read- 
ing the  Bible.  As  he  had  been  brought  up  a 
Roman  Catholic,  it  was  a  new  Book  to  him.  At 
last  he  said : 

"  Mr.  Hadley,  I  think  I  could  work  if  I 
could  get  it." 

"  All  right,"  I  said,  "  you  shall  have  work 
if  you  think  you  are  able  to  do  it."  I  procured 
him  a  job,  and  he  was  a  benediction  to  all  who 
came  near  him.  Although  his  work  was  hard 
and  difficult,  and  surrounded  as  he  was  by 
rough  drinking  men,  he  never  swerved  one  inch 
to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left. 

Billy  Kelly  had  been  a  "  skin  "  faro  dealer 
and  a  barkeeper  all  his  life,  and  an  all-round 
sport.  He  had  kept  bar  for  "  The  Allen  "  for 
thirteen  years  in  his  famous  resort  on  Bleecker 
Street,  and  had  been  discharged  at  last  for 
drunkenness.  Billy  was  known  to  barkeepers 
in  many  saloons  all  over  the  lower  part  of  the 
city,  and  could  get  all  the  whiskey  he  wanted. 
Three  times  he  had  been  carried  off  to  Bellevue 
Hospital  and  strapped  down  in  the  maniac  cell. 

This  time  he  was  nearly  dead  from  exhaus- 
tion and  want  of  sleep,  when  he  heard  of  the 
"Love  Feast"  at  Water  Street,  in  a  saloon 


Billy  Kelly,  the  Ex- Barkeeper      165 

where  he  happened  to  be,  and  said  he'd  come 
down.  Many  of  these  men,  who  had  not  heard 
him  speak  without  the  worst  kind  of  oaths, 
were  astonished  when  they  saw  Billy  looking 
so  clean  and  speaking  such  clean  words. 

"  Billy,"  they  would  say,  "  what's  the  matter 
with  you?  What  have  you  been  doing?  "  He 
would  always  answer : 

**  I've  been  down  to  the  Mission,  and  you 
had  better  come  too."  Praise  the  Lord,  they 
did  come! 

Finally,  one  year  rolled  around,  and  it  was 
Billy  Kelly's  first  anniversary.  We  make  a 
great  deal  of  this  in  Water  Street.  All  the 
boys  turn  out.  A  beautiful  bouquet  of  flowers 
stood  on  the  desk,  and  Billy  stood  up  to  read 
the  lesson.  And  he  did  read  it  too,  and  told 
his  story  of  how  Jesus  had  saved  and  kept  him 
one  whole  year — yes,  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  days.  "  The "  Allen,  his  old  employer, 
was  present  with  his  wife,  and  seemed  to  enjoy 
it.  Two  months  afterward,  dear  Brother 
Kelly  was  taken  ill  with  pneumonia,  and  we  all 
saw  the  end  was  coming. 

The  writer  saw  him  the  day  before  he  died, 
at  St.  Luke's  Hospital,  where  he  was  taken. 


1 66  Down  in  Water  Street 

The  nurse  said  he  was  deranged,  but  if  so,  his 
reason  returned  as  we  clasped  each  other's 
hands. 

"  Oh,  my  brother,"  said  he,  "  how  sweet 
Jesus  is  to  my  soul !  I  never  dreamed  he  was 
so  precious.  He  stood  by  my  bedside  all  last 
night."  The  nurse  pulled  me  away,  saying  it 
would  increase  his  fever.  He  died  soon  after, 
peacefully  trusting  Jesus,  and  realizing  the 
truth  of  the  promise,  "  He  giveth  His  beloved 
sleep." 

Dear  reader,  did  you  ever  see  a  funeral  in 
Water  Street  ?  You  will  never  forget  it  if  you 
have.  How  the  converts  turn  out — those  from 
a  distance  and  those  who  are  working  at  night. 
After  they  sang,  as  they  sing  only  in  Water 
Street,  the  Scripture  was  read  and  prayer 
offered,  and  Rev.  Dr.  A.  B.  Simpson  spoke 
from  the  text,  "  Lord,  remember  me  when 
Thou  comest  into  Thy  kingdom,"  and  he  told 
how  the  devil  sought  the  brightest  and  best  for 
his  victims.     A  sister  sang  in  sweet  tones: 

"  We'll  never  say  good-bye  in  Heaven." 

Then  the  converts  told  how  they  loved  Billy 
Kelly,  and  how  they  loved  Jesus.  Hard, 
wicked   and   cruel   men,   who   had   formerly 


Billy  Kelly,  the  Ex-Barkeeper      167 

known  the  dear  brother  in  his  old  life,  wept. 
At  the  close  was  witnessed  a  scene  never  to  be 
forgotten.  A  long  line  of  redeemed  drunkards 
filed  past  the  coffin  and  dropped  tears  of  genu- 
ine love  and  sorrow  on  the  peaceful  face  of 
their  departed  brother,  and  bade  good-bye  until 
the  glorious  resurrection  morn  to  the  one  who 
came  in  fourteen  months  before  a  homeless 
outcast  and  a  dying  drunkard. 

"Asleep  in  Jesus,  blessed  sleep, 
From  which  none  ever  wakes  to  weep." 

"  E'er  since  by  faith  I  saw  the  sf  ream 
Thy  flowing  wounds  supply, 
Redeeming  love  has  been  my  theme. 
And  shall  be  till  I  die." 


JOHN  JAEGER,  THE  ANARCHIST 


XIV 

JOHN   JAEGER,    THE   ANARCHIST 

THE  Mission  of  the  Living  Waters,  a 
soul-saving  station,  is  situated  at  No. 
130  Christie  Street,  and  is  presided  over 
by  Mr.  John  Jaeger,  The  writer  was  present 
on  July  9,  1 90 1,  at  John's  twentieth  anniver- 
sary. It  was  a  great  night.  Men  and  women 
of  distinction  in  Christian  life  and  in  business 
life  had  picked  their  way  down  those  crowded 
streets  into  that  little  mission.  The  thermom- 
eter was  over  one  hundred  degrees,  but  that 
made  no  difference.  John  sat  there  on  the 
platform,  very  feeble,  but  still  it  was  their  old 
John  whom  everybody  loved  and  in  whom 
everybody  believed,  saint  and  sinner  alike.  He 
was  a  great  character.  He  was  saved  in  the 
Old  McAuley  Water  Street  Mission  July  9, 
1 88 1.  In  the  language  of  his  wife,  he  was  a 
"  drunken  bum."  John  was  an  anarchist,  and 
a  thoroughly  bad  man  all  the  way  round. 

He  was  brought  to  this  Mission  one  night 
by  Mr.  Bradford  L.  Gilbert.     He  could  not 
171 


172  Down  in  Water  Street 

speak  a  word  of  English,  but  came  forward, 
for  the  Holy  Spirit  had  spoken  to  his  guilty 
soul,  and  he  knelt  down  for  prayers.  Jerry 
McAuley  went  up  to  him  and  said : 

"  Pray,  German  man," 

"  Nichtsverstehe."  said  he.  A  man  that  un- 
derstood German  came  up  to  him  and  said : 

"  It  is  Jesus,"  and  as  that  dear  name  is  about 
the  same  in  English  and  German,  John  caught 
on  to  his  meaning  and  cried : 

"  Oh,  Jesus,  save  me,  save  me !  " 

Did  Jesus  hear  that  cry?  Oh,  yes!  He 
heard  it,  as  He  hears  every  cry  no  matter  in 
what  language,  and  He  saved  John  right  there 
on  his  knees  that  instant. 

John  went  home  shouting  happily,  and  told 
hio  wife  that  he  had  seen  Jesus.  She  told  him 
to  shut  up,  or  she  would  fire  him  out  of  the 
house;  she  thought  him  crazy,  and  would  not 
believe  a  word  he  said. 

His  life  showed  that  he  was  true.  He  did 
not  know  a  word  of  English,  and  did  not  know 
how  to  read  or  write;  but  he  came  to  the  Mis- 
sion every  night  and  heard  the  Scripture  read 
here  and  the  people  testify  to  the  power  of 
God  in  cleansing  them  from  every  stain,  and  he 
longed  to  know  for  himself  what  the  Bible  said. 


JOHN   JAEGER. 
Saperlntendent  Mlsstoa  of  the  Llrlng  Water*. 


John  Jaeger,  the  Anarchist         173 

He  took  the  Book  one  day  and  got  down  on 
his  knees  and  said : 

"  Dear  Jesus,  this  is  Your  Word,  but  I  can't 
read  it  myself.  I  don't  know  how  to  read;  I 
have  to  Hsten  to  what  others  say,  but  I  want  to 
read  this  for  myself,  and  I  am  going  to  stay 
until  You  teach  me  to  read  Your  blessed  Book." 
And,  reader,  God  did  teach  him  to  read  that 
Book.  Although  he  could  not  read  the  names 
of  the  streets  on  the  lamp-posts,  God  taught 
him  to  read  His  Blessed  Book,  and  he  has  read 
it  ever  since. 

This  statement  can  be  verified  by  John  him- 
self, and  by  many  others. 

"  Yes,  it  is  wonderful, 

Strange,  and  so  wonderful, 
Jesus  so  gracious  could  be  1 
Oh,  it  is  wonderful, 
Strange,  and  so  wonderful, 
Jesus  could  save  even  mel** 


WOMAN*S   LOVE   AND    FAITH- 
FULNESS 


XV 
woman's  love  and  faithfulness 

I  WISH  to  pay  a  fitting  tribute,  if  possible, 
to  the  faithfulness  of  the  wife  and  mother 

when  the  husband  has  become  a  drunkard 
and  the  home  has  come  to  destruction,  and  the 
man  she  married  has  almost  ceased  to  be  a 
man  and  has  become  a  brute.  We  have  seen 
many  such  cases;  but,  perhaps,  a  single  one 
will  suffice: 

This  man  was  a  finely  educated  gentleman; 
he  was  college-bred.  He  married  a  beautiful 
young  lady  before  he  became  a  victim  to  drink, 
and  they  started  out  in  life,  and,  as  he  was  a 
good  printer,  they  had  a  happy  home.  But  lit- 
tle by  little  drink  usurped  the  place  of  wife  and 
home  and  children,  and  Jack  became  a  drunk- 
ard. Why  is  it  that  drunkards  get  such  lovely 
wives?  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  seen  this 
borne  out  in  many  cases.  Jack  came  to  this 
city,  but  he  spent  most  of  his  time  in  the  saloon, 
and  finally  all  of  his  time,  and  the  poor  wife 
had  to  take  her  children  and  go  back  tP  hcT 
177 


178  Down  in  Water  Street 

father  in  an  Eastern  city.  Did  she  forget  Jack 
or  desert  him  ?  Oh,  no !  But  she  would  write 
to  the  saloon  (where  he  hung  out),  and  to  the 
men  who  associated  with  him,  and  would  learn 
that  Jack  was  doing  very  badly.  In  a  drunken 
fight  he  got  a  bad  gash  between  the  eyes,  and, 
as  he  was  living  on  whiskey  as  a  steady  diet, 
he  did  not  do  well,  and  soon  had  a  dreadful 
face. 

His  wife  had  made  friends  here  in  the  Prot- 
estant Episcopal  Church,  to  which  she  be- 
longed, and  kept  writing  to  them  to  look  out 
for  Jack,  who  always  hung  out  at  a  place 
called  the  "  Reform,"  on  Pearl  Street.  Through 
the  influence  of  his  wife  he  got  into  the  Trinity 
Hospital  on  Varick  Street,  and  was  treated 
kindly  and  cured.  As  soon  as  he  was  released 
he  got  into  another  row,  and  had  his  face  badly 
hurt  again.  His  wife  on  hearing  of  the  state 
of  affairs,  concluded  that  she  would  come  to 
see  him. 

It  was  on  one  hot  morning  in  August  that 
she  wrote  him  that  she  was  coming  down  on 
the  Fall  River  boat  which  would  reach  the  city 
on  Sunday  morning.  His  forehead  was  ban- 
daged with  absorbent  cotton,  and  strips  of 
Sticking  plaster  were  around  his  head  and  cheek 


Woman's  Love  and  Faithfulness     179 

and  nose  to  hold  them  together.  He  had  on 
neither  shirt,  coat  nor  vest;  an  old  linen  duster 
supplied  the  place  of  all  these  garments.  His 
pants  were  split  behind  nearly  up  to  the  knees, 
and  at  every  step  they  would  go  flappety- 
flap  like  a  scare-crow  in  a  cornfield.  He  had 
no  stockings,  and  his  toes  were  sticking  out  of 
his  broken  shoes.  He  was  dirty  and  wretched, 
and  exhaustion  from  hunger  almost  overcame 
him.  But  he  knew  that  his  wife  was  coming 
that  morning,  and,  reader,  a  drunkard  loves  his 
wife.  Don't  think  that  all  love  is  gone  be- 
cause a  man  has  become  a  drunkard.  How 
often  have  I  seen  men  in  saloons  weeping  for 
the  love  of  wife  and  children,  and  because  of 
the  degradation  that  prevented  them  from  being 
a  husband  and  father  to  them. 

It  was  early  Sunday  morning,  and  though 
he  knew  that  hundreds  of  Newport's  most  fash- 
ionable guests  would  be  on  the  boat.  Jack  could 
not  resist  the  desire  to  go  down  to  the  pier  to 
see  her  who  was  coming.  But  he  thought  he 
would  keep  out  of  the  way,  so  he  hid  behind  a 
big  dry  goods  box  on  the  pier  and  watched  the 
beautiful  ship  as  she  slowly  steamed  into  the 
dock.  Although  he  was  trying  to  keep  himself 
hidden,  he  would  peep  out  to  see  if  the  dear 


l$o  Down  in  Water  Street 

one  was  on  board.  There  was  another  one, 
too,  who  was  looking  with  both  her  eyes,  and 
that  was  the  loved  one;  and  love  has  keen, 
sharp  eyes,. 

She  was  watching  with  all  her  loving  heart 
to  see  if  she  could  get  a  glimpse  of  Jack,  and, 
sure  enough,  she  caught  a  view  of  his  disfig- 
ured face  as  he  peeped  around  the  corner  of  the 
box  where  he  was  hiding.  She  flew  down  the 
gangplank,  the  first  passenger  off,  and  running 
up  to  the  poor  tramp  she  cried :  "  Oh,  Jack, 
Jack !  "  and  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and 
kissed  him.  She  was  a  beautiful  woman, 
dressed  as  dainty  as  a  queen,  but  she  took  his 
arm  and  walked  up  the  pier  in  front  of  that 
company  of  millionaires  and  fine  people.  It 
v/as  a  sight  to  make  angels  weep. 

Poor  Jack!  He  said  he  felt  as  though  he 
should  sink  into  the  earth.  She  remained  a 
day  or  two,  but  she  could  do  him  no  good. 
Everything  she  gave  him  went  for  whiskey, 
and  with  a  breaking  heart  she  went  back  to  her 
Eastern  home. 

Early  the  following  winter  this  same  Jack 
came  to  see  us.  He  had  on  the  same  linen 
duster;  the  sleet  and  snow  were  packed  in  his 
broken  shoes,  and  he  was  wet  to  the  skin  as  he 


JOHN    R.    McCONICA. 


Woman's  Love  and  Faithfulness     i8i 

took  a  seat  for  the  first  time  in  the  Old  Mc- 
Auley  Mission.  Here  he  learned  that  Jesus 
Christ  could  save  a  drunkard;  here  he  learned 
that  there  was  hope  as  the  converts  arose  and 
told  with  glowing  faces  of  this  hope,  and  when 
the  invitation  was  given,  he  took  courage,  and 
came  forward  and  gave  his  heart  to  God. 

Reader,  this  was  sixteen  years  ago.  This 
man  has  been  winning  souls  for  Christ  ever 
since.  He  has  been  unusually  successful  in 
drawing  lost  men  to  his  Master,  and  out  of  the 
number  which  he  has  led  to  Jesus  many  distin- 
guished workers  have  come  up,  who  are  also 
leading  souls  to  Jesus.  Some  have  gone  as 
missionaries  to  India,  Africa,  China  and  South 
America,  and  he  is  still  in  the  harness. 

"Drunkards,  for  you  He  shed  His  blood. 
Your  basest  crimes  He  bore ; 
Your  sins  were  all  on  Jesus  laid, 
That  you  might  sin  no  more." 


JOHN  M.    WOOD,    THE 
DRUNKEN  SAILOR 


XVI 

JOHN  M.  WOOD^  THE  DRUNKEN  SAILOR 

JOHN  M.  WOOD  was  one  of  the  brightest 
men  ever  converted  in  the  McAuley  Water 
Street  Mission.  He  was  born  in  Kentucky, 
September  13,  1847.  He  came  into  Water 
Street,  October  20,  1890.  Four  months  pre- 
vious to  this  he  had  been  discharged  from  the 
United  States  Navy  for  "  drunkenness  and 
chronic  alcoholism,"  after  he  had  been  in  the 
service  thirteen  years.  He  had  been  paid  off 
with  about  $400,  and  came  over  to  New  York 
and  entered  upon  a  wild  debauch  on  the  Bowery 
and  Chatham  Square. 

After  his  money  was  gone  he  began  to  have 
delirium  tremens,  and  finally  imagined  he  heard 
a  voice  saying  to  him : 

"  Now,  John,  you're  no  good ;  you  will  never 
be  any  good,  so  go  to  the  river  and  drown  your- 
self." 

This  man  had  been  around  the  world  several 
times,  and  stopped  at  every  port  where  a  vessel 
could  anchor,  and  had  been  drunk  at  almost 
i8s 


1 86  Down  in  Water  Street 

every  seaport  on  the  globe.  He  decided  to 
follow  the  advice  of  this  voice,  and  as  he  started 
for  the  river  he  felt  as  if  a  hand  was  pressing 
and  pushing  him  along.  When  he  came  to  the 
corner  of  Water  and  Roosevelt  Streets,  he 
stopped.  Why  did  he  stop?  Because  he  heard 
sweet  music  coming  from  the  Old  McAuley 
Mission.  He  again  bent  his  ears  to  catch  the 
sound : 

"  There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood." 

Ah!  his  dear  old  mother  used  to  sing  that  in 
his  happy  childhood  days!  He  looked  around 
at  the  saloons  on  the  corners,  and  turning  sud- 
denly his  eyes  caught  the  bright,  glowing  let- 
ters on  our  transparency.  He  came  in  and  took 
the  back  seat;  came  forward  when  the  invita- 
tion was  given;  gave  his  heart  to  God,  and 
never  touched  a  drop  from  that  day  to  the  end 
of  his  life. 

We  took  care  of  him  for  a  little  while,  but  he 
soon  found  work.  His  longing  desire  was  to 
go  to  the  Navy  Yard  and  tell  his  shipmates 
of  his  new-found  liberty  and  peace  in  Christ. 
He  finally  received  permission  of  the  captain 
of  the  war-ship  Chicago  to  hold  services  on 
board  one  Sunday  afternoon,  and  the  writer, 


Jonn  IVl.  Wood,  the  Dninfcen  bailor  187 

with  eight  or  ten  of  our  ccMiverts,  went  with 
him. 

Unknown  to  Brother  Wood,  on  that  ship 
were  some  of  the  officers  of  the  American  Sea- 
man's Friend  Society,  who  heard  him  tell  how 
Jesus  had  rescued  him  from  the  depths  of  sin 
and  made  him  a  new  man.  When  he  asked  all 
who  wanted  to  lead  a  better  life  to  stand  up, 
nearly  two  hundred  of  the  crew  stood  up  and 
asked  him  to  pray  for  them. 

These  gentlemen  decided  that  he  was  the 
man  who  ought  to  be  made  chaplain  of  the 
Navy  Yard.  The  Rev.  Dr.  W.  C.  Stitt  con- 
ferred with  the  writer,  and  after  making  some 
inquiries  extended  a  call  to  Brother  Wood,  and 
I  believe  he  was  the  first  unordained  chaplain 
of  the  Navy  Yard. 

On  the  occasion  of  his  third  anniversary,  he 
married  a  young  lady  who  was  a  sweet  singer, 
one  who  had  assisted  him  quite  frequently  in 
the  Navy  Yard.  One  of  the  strongest  features 
of  Brother  Wood's  character  was  his  growth  in 
grace.  He  loved  much  because  he  was  for- 
given much.  His  love  for  drunken  sailors  was 
boundless. 

The  texts  and  hymns  which  magnify  the 
cleansing  blood  were  constantly  used  in  his 


l88  Down  in  Water  Street 

services,  and  in  his  addresses  to  seamen  he 
would  tell,  with  tears  streaming-  down  his  face, 
how  Christ  had  saved  him,  and  would  save 
them.  Scores  at  a  time  would  respond  to  his 
appeal,  and  testify  to  its  wonderful  power.  He 
succeeded  in  starting  a  Christian  Endeavour 
Society  on  every  one  of  the  six  vessels  of  the 
famous  White  Squadron. 

Brother  Wood  died  suddenly  of  hemorrhage 
of  the  lungs  at  his  home  in  Brooklyn,  May  25, 
1898,  breathing  his  last  in  the  arms  of  his  faith- 
ful wife.  His  funeral  was  held  in  the  Central 
Baptist  Church  of  Brooklyn.  His  pastor,  the 
Rev.  A.  B.  Sears,  preached  the  sermon,  and  the 
sweet  singer,  F.  H.  Jacobs,  and  Dr.  Stitt,  were 
present  with  the  writer.  The  coffin,  draped  in 
the  United  States  Navy  flag,  was  borne  to  the 
church  by  six  sailors,  followed  by  a  detachment 
of  men  from  the  Navy  Yard,  and  many  mourn- 
ing friends. 

"Jesus,  the  name  high  over  all 
In  hill,  or  earth,  and  sky — 
Angels  and  men  before  it  fall. 
And  devils  fear  and  fly." 


UNDERWOOD,  NEWMAN    AND 
ROBERTS 


XVII 

UNDERWOOD,    NEWMAN   AND  ROBERTS 

JAMES  D.  UNDERWOOD  had  been  a 
drunkard  for  years.  He  came  from  Provi- 
dence, R.  L,  and  was  arrested  many  times 
there.  He  then  located  here.  At  one  time 
he  had  been  a  successful  jewelry  salesman  for 
a  large  house  in  Maiden  Lane,  but  finally  be- 
came so  addicted  to  drink  he  could  not  secure 
employment. 

Many  times  in  the  early  missionary  labours 
of  the  writer  along  the  Bowery,  long  after  mid- 
night, he  has  been  approached  by  "  Jim  "  with 
a  request  for  a  nickel,  or  "  Won't  you  buy  some 
court-plaster  so  I  can  get  my  lodging?"  He 
had  often  been  to  Water  Street,  and  had  been 
helped  repeatedly. 

One  night,  when  the  invitation  hymn  was 
being  sung,  the  writer  was  passing  down  the 
aisle,  asking  the  poor  drunkards  here  and  there 
to  come  up  to  our  mercy-seat,  when  on  the  last 
seat  near  the  door  sat  Jim  Underwood.  He 
had  come  down  from  the  Island  that  evening 


192  Down  in  Water  Street 

for  the  sixteenth  time,  having  been  committed 
for  drunkenness  and  vagrancy.  I  took  him  by 
the  hand  and  said : 

"Jim,  aren't  you  tired  of  this  life?  Won't 
you  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  will  come;  "  and  picking 
up  his  old  cap,  he  walked  up  the  aisle.  He  was 
saved  that  very  night.  He  worked  one  week 
in  a  restaurant.  We  helped  him  to  clothing, 
lodging  and  food  when  he  needed  it,  and  before 
long  he  found  employment  at  his  old  business, 
selling  jewelry. 

When  his  first  anniversary  rolled  around,  he 
went  up  and  down  Maiden  Lane,  John  Street 
and  all  over  the  jewelry  district  and  told  every- 
body. Christian,  Heathen,  Turk  and  Jew,  that 
he  was  going  to  celebrate  his  first  year  in  the 
Christian  life.  He  not  only  invited  them  to 
come,  but  said  he  wanted  to  raise  a  good  sum 
for  the  Mission.  Nearly  all  of  these  people 
had  been  pestered  sorely  by  Jim  in  his  old  life 
for  nickels  and  dimes,  which  always  went  for 
whiskey :  but  how  different  now !  Some  well- 
known  Jews  said : 

"  Yes,  I'll  gladly  give  to  any  cause  that  can 
make  a  man  of  such  a  drunkard  as  Jim  Under- 
wood." 


Underwood,  Newman  and  Roberts  193 

After  Jim  had  read  the  lesson  and  given  his 
testimony,  he  presented  the  superintendent 
with  a  large  envelope  containing  three  himdred 
and  ten  dollars  for  the  Mission.  The  largest 
gift  was  ten  dollars,  and  the  smallest,  one  dol- 
lar. About  one  hundred  jewelers  contributed, 
probably  two-thirds  of  whom  were  not  profess- 
ors of  Christ 

He  traveled  for  a  large  house  in  Maiden 
Lane,  the  Champenois  Jewelry  Manufactur- 
ing Company,  for  about  ten  years,  and  sup- 
ported his  aged  mother  and  sister.  He  laid 
up  a  snug  sum  of  money  also. 

One  hot  day.  May  21,  1898,  he  went  into  the 
jewelry  store  of  F.  H.  Niehaus  and  Company, 
No.  312  North  6th  Street,  St.  Louis,  Mo.,  and 
in  some  unaccountable  manner  plunged  a  glass 
into  a  two-gallon  crock  of  cyanide  potassium, 
supposing  it  was  water,  and  was  dead  in  fifteen 
minutes. 

We  present  his  picture  here  to  show  how 
this  handsome,  smart  business  man  was 
changed  from  a  tramp  and  a  nuisance  to  a  use- 
ful Christian  gentleman. 

"Whom  have  I  in  Heaven  but  Thee?  and 
there  is  none  upon  earth  that  I  desire  beside 
Thee."     (  Psalm  Ixxiii :  25  ) . 


194  Down  in  Water  Street 

One  Sunday  afternoon  Henry  C.  Newman 
accidentally  passed  our  Mission  doors,  and  was 
attracted  by  the  singing.  He  was  a  newspaper 
man,  and  had  worked  for  years  on  "  The  Jer- 
sey City  Journal,"  but  he  became  such  a  drunk- 
ard he  lost  his  position  and  was  out  of  work. 
He  came  forward  for  prayers  when  the  invita- 
tion was  given,  and  gave  his  heart  to  Grod,  and 
he  never  took  another  drink. 

He  went  home  and  his  old  employer,  Mr. 
Dear,  proprietor  of  "  The  Journal,"  put  him  to 
work  again,  but  he  could  not  rest  without  mak- 
ing an  effort  to  save  the  lost  about  him.  He 
first  started  the  Morris  Street  Mission,  then  the 
Foundry  Mission,  and  then  the  Newman  Mis- 
sion at  62  Montgomery  Street,  and  afterwards 
organized  the  Newman  Industrial  Home  and 
Mission  on  Grand  Street. 

He  lived  a  Christian  life  all  these  years,  and 
was  devotedly  helping  to  pick  up  fallen  men  and 
women  all  about  him.  At  the  funeral  many  of 
the  pastors  of  Jersey  City  paid  a  high  tribute 
to  the  inspiration  they  had  received  from  the 
redeemed  drunkard,  Henry  C.  Newman. 

The  Home  has  been  kept  going  ever  since. 
Within  the  last  year  it  has  taken  a  wonderful 
start,  and  to-day  the  Henry  C.  Newman  Home 


Underwood,  Newman  and  Roberts   195 

occupies  the  large  four-story  building,  the 
upper  part  of  which  is  used  for  a  dormitory, 
with  a  chapel  on  the  main  floor,  kitchen,  dining 
room  and  lavatory  in  the  basement,  with  four 
lots  adjoining,  with  wood  sheds  where  those 
desiring  can  earn  their  living.  All  honour 
should  be  given  to  Mr.  Dear,  proprietor  of 
"  The  Journal,"  to  whose  energetic  business 
ability  this  has  been  made  possible. 

Mr.  C.  W.  Roberts,  one  of  our  beloved  boys, 
was  converted  in  the  Mission  on  the  15th  of 
November,  1888.  He  came  in  like  everyone 
else — a  drunkard  and  a  homeless  outcast.  He 
was  a  college-bred  man,  and  while  at  college  he 
learned  to  drink. 

He  soon  developed  into  one  of  our  best  work- 
ers, and  when  a  Mission  was  started  at  No.  25 
Liberty  Street,  Utica,  N.  Y.,  Brother  Roberts 
was  chosen  for  the  position  of  leader.  This 
work  was  a  success  from  the  start,  and  is  still 
carried  on  successfully;  but  the  climate  proved 
too  rigorous  for  our  dear  brother:  he  broke 
down  and  was  obliged  to  come  back  to  New 
York,  and  soon  died. 

It  is  strange  how  the  Lord  works  to  draw 
men  in  here!  In  his  poverty  he  had  a  chum, 
an  old  man  named  Seth  Paul,  and  they  wan- 


1 96  Down  in  Water  Street 

dered  the  streets  together.  Mr.  Paul  had  once 
been  a  wealthy  hotel  man.  At  one  time  he  had 
as  summer  lodgers  a  'Mr.  Frank  Lawrence  and 
his  wife  and  family.  Mr.  Lawrence  was  at 
that  time  a  member  of  the  Stock  Exchange. 
Afterwards  he  became  a  victim  to  drink,  and 
lost  his  home  and  family,  and  in  that  condition 
he,  too,  found  a  refuge  in  the  old  Mission,  and 
was  one  of  the  leading  workers  here.  In  a  sa- 
loon one  night  Mr.  Paul  said : 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  Water  Street  Mission;  I 
heard  that  Frank  Lawrence  was  a  leader  there, 
and  I  want  to  see  him."  The  two  men  came 
down  and  both  were  saved  that  night.  Neither 
of  them  touched  a  drop  of  whiskey  afterwards. 
Mr.  Paul  died  two  years  afterwards  of  erysipe- 
las in  Bellevue  Hospital. 

Brother  Roberts  was  a  very  talented  young 
man.  About  the  time  of  his  taking  hold  of  the 
Mission  in  Utica,  he  married  a  Miss  Ida 
Maybe,  whom  he  had  met  in  mission  work  in 
this  city.  Although  his  useful  young  life  was 
cut  off,  his  influence  still  remains,  and  the  mis- 
sion which  he  started  is  still  saving  souls. 


^  PLEA  FOR  THE  DRUNKARD 


XVIII 

A   PLEA    FOR   THE  DRUNKARD 

"  Poisoned  by  alcohol. 
Blear-eyed  and  illy  clad, 
Cursing  his  fate  as  he  shuffles  along; 
Crushed  and  bereft  of  the  once  earnest  will  he  had, 
Penniless,  homeless,  jeered  by  the  throng. 

Friends  have  assisted  him. 

Pastors  have  prayed  o'er  him. 
He  has  been  rescued  and  lost  o'er  and  o'er. 

Oh,  do  not  give  him  up ; 

Pull  from  his  lips  the  cup; 
Speak  to  him  kindly,  and  try  him  once  more." 

THE  vast  army  of  men  and  women  who 
have  been  snared  by  the  tempting  habit 
of  drink  in  its  various  forms,  and  have 
become  helpless  victims  of  its  cruel  power, 
should  receive,  for  many  reasons,  the  care  and 
help  of  the  Church  of  God,  and  of  those  who 
love  her  cause.  If  they  do  not  give  it,  no  one 
else  will,  for  it  takes  grace  to  love  a  drunkard. 
Only  the  pity  born  of  the  heart  of  our  dear  Re- 
deemer can  sympathize  with  a  drunkard  in  his 
lost  condition. 


200  Down  in  Water  Street 

I  do  not  believe  the  appetite  for  strong  drink 
is  inherited  from  our  parents  any  more  than  the 
appetite  for  potatoes  or  turnips,  but  I  do  beheve 
a  child  may  inherit  from  his  parents  a  nervous, 
sensitive  and  weak  disposition,  a  nature  to 
which  alcohol  will  act  as  a  spur  to  a  high-strung 
horse,  and  will  cause  him  to  fly  to  destruction. 

I  have  often  noticed  among  the  thousands  of 
drunkards  I  have  handled,  that  the  fine,  sym- 
pathetic fellows,  the  men  with  large  imagina- 
tions, the  kind,  generous  men  or  women,  who 
would  sooner  go  hungry  than  see  another 
starve,  make  the  worst  drunkards.  This  kind 
of  people,  when  they  were  saved  by  the  grace  of 
God,  have  made  Old  Water  Street  Mission  fa- 
mous all  over  the  world,  and  have  magnified 
our  blessed  Redeemer's  power  everywhere. 

Chri-stians  should  be  the  friend  of  the  drunk- 
ard because  only  Christ  can  save  them.  All 
other  remedies  have  failed,  and  will  ever  fail. 
As  the  power  and  appetite  for  alcohol  are  purely 
Satanic  in  their  desires  and  effects,  so  only  can 
the  blood  of  Christ  conquer  and  wash  out  this 
stain.  It  is  sin  in  the  human  heart  that  invites 
this  demon,  and  in  coquetting  with  him  man 
becomes  his  slave,  and  nothing  short  of  regen- 
eration can  cast  him  out 


A  Plea  for  the  Drunkard  aoi 

The  writer  has  known  personally  thousands 
of  men  from  all  classes  of  people  from  the 
lowest  to  the  highest,  who  have  exhausted 
every  means  known,  and  found  themselves 
worse  off  than  ever.  I  have  seen  men  cured  in- 
stantly by  Christ  alone,  and  never  touch  or 
want  a  drink  till  their  dying  day,  who  had  been 
placed  in  various  institutions  over  a  dozen 
times,  and  supposed  they  were  cured  each  time 
they  came  out. 

While  the  Christian  people  of  New  York 
city  go  to  their  comfortable  beds  in  the  long 
winter  evenings,  and  spend  the  night  in  sweet, 
refreshing  sleep,  thousands  of  men,  yes,  and 
women  too,  are  walking,  walking,  walking,  all 
night  long,  all  because  of  drink.  In  many  cases, 
these  too  have  had  good  homes  and  loved  ones, 
but  drink  has  robbed  them  of  all  this.  Thou- 
sands try  hard  to  get  the  nickel  that  will  get 
the  drink  and  make  them  welcome  in  the  back 
room  of  some  Raines  law  hotel,  or  give  them 
liberty  to  stand  in  the  rear  of  some  dive; 
but  if  they  cannot  get  it,  they  must  walk,  walk, 
walk.  With  no  underclothing,  with  thin 
clothes,  and  their  feet  on  the  ground,  many  in 
their  perambulations  pass  by  the  very  places 
they  once  owned,  or  where  they  had  at  one  time 


ao2  Down  in  Water  Street 

carried  on  a  successful  business.  Is  it  any 
wonder  they  come  down  to  the  dear  old  Mis- 
sion, and  even  go  forward  for  prayers,  in  order 
to  secure  a  place  to  sleep  in,  or  a  good  square 
meal;  and  is  it  any  wonder  that  they  are  like 
the  blind  man  who  sat  by  the  wayside  begging, 
who  was  led  to  cry : 

"Jesus,  thou  Son  of  David,  have  mercy  on 
me?"  And  they  also  receive  their  sight  and 
follow  Him. 

The  Church  should  be  kind  to  the  drunkard, 
because  only  by  her  consent  can  whiskey  be 
manufactured  or  sold.  Everyone  knows  that 
the  church  people  combined  have  the  power  or 
the  balance  of  power,  and  that  if  they  would 
stand  together  it  could  not  be  sold. 

What  must  the  rum-seller  think  when  the 
good  people  and  law-makers  of  this  city  and 
State  say  to  him :  "  This  is  a  bad  business,  a 
very  bad  business;  it  corrupts  society,  de- 
bauches our  youth,  fills  our  prisons  and  insane 
asylums;  it  is  a  bad,  bad  business.  Now,  as 
it  is  such  a  wicked  and  corrupt  trade,  we  can- 
not permit  you  to  sell  it  for  a  license  fee  of 
$200,  but  if  you  will  pay  us  $800  you  can  sell 
it  all  day  and  all  night,  and  Sundays  too ! " 

So  this  man,  with  ill-disguised  contempt  for 


A  Plea  for  the  Drunkard  aoj 

these  good  law-makers,  pays  $800  and  takes  his 
chances  of  getting  it  out  of  the  poor  victim  who 
is  willing  to  barter  his  soul  or  sell  his  children's 
clothing  or  his  own  coat  for  a  drink. 

O  that  I  could  awaken  the  Christian  Church 
of  this  city,  and  of  this  country,  to  the  fearful 
responsibility  which  we  must  meet,  so  surely 
as  we  appear  before  the  Judgment  Seat  of 
Christ !  If  this  is  so,  then  what  must  we  do  ? 
Why,  seek  to  save  the  drunkards.  Plant  Rescue 
Missions  in  the  midst  of  these  dens  of  vice, 
and  man  them  with  godly  men  and  women  who 
love  men  and  women  because  they  are  lost,  and 
who  use  only  the  loving,  tender,  sweet  Gospel 
of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  have  them  backed 
loyally  by  the  churches,  and  it  will  surprise  you 
what  the  Lord  can  do. 

"  For  the  Son  of  Man  is  come  to  seek  and 
to  save  that  which  was  lost."  (Luke  xix:  10). 


MY  BROTHER 


XIX 

MY   BROTHER 

HOW  can  I  describe  Colonel  H.  H.  Had- 
ley,  my  beloved  and  only  brother,  prob- 
ably the  most  successful  soul-winner  the 
Old  Water  Street  Mission  has  ever  turned  out  ? 
Someone  else  should  write  this  narrative,  for  it 
is  hard  to  put  in  type  the  history  of  one  whom 
you  love  as  I  do  the  subject  of  this  chapter. 

Henry  Harrison  Hadley  was  born  February 
II,  1841.  He  is  about  one  year  and  a  half 
older  than  the  writer.  In  childhood  we  were 
near  enough  of  one  age  to  be  playmates  back  as 
far  as  I  can  remember.  We  never  slept  apart, 
or  ate  apart,  or  played  or  worked  apart.  We 
had  no  secrets  from  each  other,  and  when  we 
discarded  short  pants  at  a  very  early  age,  and 
were  able  to  escort  the  rosy-cheeked  damsels 
home  from  the  spelling  schools  and  corn  husk- 
ing and  quilting  parties  and  apple  butter  "  bil- 
in's,"  we  could  scarcely  wait  for  the  other  to 
come  home  to  relate  the  wondrous  mystery  of 
feminine  love  and  vows  we  had  each  been  able 
307 


2o8  Down  in  Water  Street 

to  coax  from  our  "  best  girl."  Oh,  those  happy 
days,  long  since  departed ! 

We  worked  hard  all  day,  and  in  the  night 
went  coon  hunting,  or  to  spelling  schools,  or  to 
some  wonderful  revival  meeting,  where  sinners 
would  get  under  conviction  at  the  powerful 
preaching  of  the  old-fashioned  Gospel,  and 
weep  their  way  to  the  altar  or  "  mourners' 
bench."  (And  it  was  a  bench,  too,  and  some- 
times a  fence-rail.)  They  would  wring  their 
hands  and  howl  and  cry,  and,  at  last,  amid 
songs  and  shouts  of  victory  from  stentorian 
lungs,  they  would  spring  into  the  air  and  shout 
and  hug  their  old  companions,  and  praise  God 
till  you  could  hear  them  nearly  half  a  mile  off. 
Sometimes  they  would  fall  on  the  floor,  as 
"  stiff  as  a  crowbar,"  and  have  to  be  carried 
home  across  the  fields,  through  the  woods  and 
over  stake  and  rider  fences.  The  neighbours 
would  sit  around  the  fireplaces  and  sing  low, 
sweet  songs  until  morning.  These  men  would 
never  fall  back  to  the  world  afterwards.  They 
had  got  a  view  of  Canaan;  they  had  tasted  of 
its  precious  fruits;  they  had  heard  the  sweet 
echo  of  the  heavenly  choir,  and  they  stood  firm 
as  rocks. 

There  was  no  agnosticism  there.  They  could 


My  Brother  209 

not  read,  many  of  them,  but  they  could  hear, 
and  they  had  heard  something  that  they  could 
never  forget.  It  was  not  that  Moses  did  not 
write  the  Pentateuch,  nor  that  Noah  and  the 
ark  and  Jonah  and  the  whale  were  only  "  folk- 
lore," nor  that  the  beginning  of  all  life  was  pro- 
toplasm and  then  a  tadpole,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  They 
had  a  vision  of  Jesus,  and  you  could  not  fool 
them  with  two  Isaiahs.  They  went  through 
life  shouting,  and  they  died  shouting  Jesus' 
precious  name,  and  they  fairly  terrified  the  devil 
away  from  their  death-beds.  All  these  scenes 
we  boys  saw  with  wonder,  and  talked  them 
over  on  our  way  home  through  the  lonely 
woods. 

Our  home  always  had  an  extra  bed  for 
preachers,  and  we  boys  would  sit  around  the 
fireplace  and  hear  them  relate  their  remarkable 
adventures,  and  help  carry  those  wonderful 
saddle-bags  to  their  room.  So  we  grew  up,  my 
brother  growing  to  be  a  tall,  handsome  fellow, 
the  favourite  of  all  the  pretty  girls  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. How  well  I  remember  when  he 
was  compelled  to  remain  away  from  home  the 
first  night!  I  thought  morning  would  never 
come. 

When  we  both  reached  the  age  of  young 


2IO  Down  in  Water  Street 

manhood,  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  got  into  bad 
company.  I  associated  with  men  older  than 
myself,  men  who  were  noted  for  their  sporting 
character  and  race  horses.  I  soon  had  a  race 
horse  myself  and  then  I  learned  to  drink  whis- 
key. 

Never  shall  I  forget  one  eventful  night  when 
I  took  my  dear  brother  away  on  a  long  horse- 
back ride  and  gave  him  his  first  drink  of  whis- 
key. His  astonishment  when  he  found  that 
I  not  only  drank  but  that  I  actually  had  a 
bottle  of  whiskey  in  my  pocket,  was  great ;  but 
I  finally  persuaded  him  to  take  that  fateful  first 
drink. 

The  war  broke  out,  and  my  darling,  hand- 
some brother  volunteered  in  the  90th  Ohio  In- 
fantry. The  day  of  his  departure  seems  but 
yesterday.  How  I  remember,  with  tears,  to 
this  day  the  dumb  agony  which  almost  killed 
me  as  we  lay  on  the  floor  in  our  little  parlor, 
locked  in  each  other's  arms!  Must  he  leave 
me?  How  could  I  live  without  him?  Could 
I  not  go  too?  Oh,  no !  I  was  lame  for  life,  and 
they  would  not  take  me.  At  last  the  day  came, 
and  with  the  soul-stirring  music  of  the  drum 
and  fife,  and  the  brave  tears  and  smiles  and 
fond  good-byes  of  father,  mother,  brothers, 


My  Brother  2 1 1 

sisters,  sweethearts  and  neighbours,  the  regi- 
ment marched  away.  They  took  the  train  and 
went  to  swell  the  great  army  of  the  North. 

Now  and  then  a  letter  came  in  our  weekly 
mail,  which  told  of  heavy  marching,  severe 
fighting  and  little  to  eat.  At  last,  from  a  com- 
rade came  the  heart-breaking  news  of  my 
brother  being  wounded,  sick,  and  probably  dy- 
ing, in  a  hospital  at  Nashville,  Tenn.  At  once 
I  determined  to  go  to  him.  I  got  the  money 
together,  went  to  the  county  seat  town,  bought 
a  ticket  for  Cincinnati,  and  took  my  first  ride 
on  a  railroad,  one  hundred  and  twenty-five 
miles  away.  At  Cincinnati,  I  had  my  first 
view  of  a  river,  the  Ohio.  It  was  very  high, 
and  covered  with  floating  ice.  To  me  it  seemed 
certain  death  to  embark  on  a  steamboat  to  go 
down  that  river;  nevertheless  I  went.  At 
Louisville  I  had  to  halt  for  three  days,  for 
General  Morgan  had  burned  the  bridges  on 
the  Louisville  and  Nashville  Railway,  but  we 
got  under  way,  and  our  train  was  the  first  to 
pass  over  the  new  bridges.  All  through  Ken- 
tucky and  Tennessee  the  ravages  of  war  were 
everywhere  visible.  At  Nashville,  I  saw  dead 
mules  in  the  streets,  soldiers  everywhere,  and 
long  trains  of  army  wagons  forever  passing  by. 


212  Down  in  Water  Street 

I  made  my  way  with  a  beating  heart  to  the 
hospital,  an  old  college  building,  where  my 
brother  was  said  to  be.  When  I  went  into  the 
office  and  asked  a  soldier  clerk  about  him,  he 
said,  after  looking  over  the  register : 

"  Your  brother  is  dead.  I  think  you  will 
find  him  in  the  dead-house,  an  old  frame  build- 
ing in  the  yard."  We  failed  to  find  him  there 
among  the  many  dead  soldiers,  and  it  was  then 
discovered  that  he  had  been  transferred  to 
another  hospital.  On  going  there  I  heard  that 
he  had  been  carried  to  the  depot.  A  tag  had 
been  put  on  his  blouse  ticketing  him  through  to 
New  Lexington,  Ohio,  and  I  had  passed  him 
at  Louisville. 

It  required  passes  from  headquarters  either  to 
get  in  or  out  of  the  lines,  and  I  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  get  away;  but  at  last  I  reached  home 
and  found  my  brother,  but  oh,  how  changed! 
Not  a  bit  of  hair  was  on  his  head,  and  he 
weighed  only  sixty-nine  pounds. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  our  father  died. 
Mother  died  shortly  after  he  enlisted.  Our 
home  was  soon  broken  up,  and  my  brother,  re- 
gaining his  health,  soon  re-enlisted  in  the  Sig- 
nal Corps.  From  this  time  on  his  promotion 
was  rapid. 


My  Brother  213 

When  the  war  was  over,  he  came  home  and 
began  life  again;  but  drink  and  sin  had  made 
fearful  inroads  upon  him.  He  drank  heavily, 
but  being  a  powerful  man,  it  did  not  seem  to 
make  such  havoc  in  his  case  as  it  did  in  mine; 
besides,  when  I  drank  whiskey  I  paid  attention 
to  it  and  did  nothing  else. 

When  Jesus  so  wonderfully  and  mercifully 
saved  me,  my  first  thought  was  for  my  brother, 
but  he  had  become  an  unbeliever  at  heart,  and 
I  knew  it  would  do  no  good  to  talk  to  him;  so 
I  talked  to  Jesus  about  it  all  the  time.  I  told 
Him  how  I  loved  my  brother,  that  I  had  given 
him  his  first  drink  of  whiskey,  and  that  I 
wanted  him  saved.  I  had  been  saved  over  four 
years,  and  Harry  had  watched  me  like  a  cat. 
God  helped  me  to  do  some  things  which  my 
brother  knew  no  one  but  God,  if  there  was  one, 
could  make  me  do.  Then  the  drink  seemed  to 
get  the  best  of  him,  and  he  got  worse.  As 
soon  as  I  was  saved,  I  slowly  went  up  while  he 
went  down.  I  sent  him  an  invitation  to  come 
to  my  opening  at  the  Mission,  and  he  saw 
"  Big  Jim  "  start  for  Heaven,  but  he  was  pretty 
full  at  the  time. 

"  There,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  if  religion  can 
do  anything   for  that  man,   I  will  believe." 


a  14  Down  in  Water  Street 

God  took  him  at  his  word,  and  Jim  was 
saved. 

On  the  28th  of  July,  1886,  my  dear  brother 
came  down  to  see  me.  He  had  been  on  a  fear- 
ful debauch,  and  was  trying  the  old,  old  racket 
of  sobering  up.  I  persuaded  him  to  stay  to 
supper.  Our  only  sister  was  visiting  us  at  the 
time,  and  she  and  my  dear  wife  joined  me  in 
coaxing  him  to  stay.  He  did  so,  and  went 
down  to  the  meeting.  It  was  a  very  hot  night, 
and  only  thirty-six  people  were  present.  But 
the  house  was  full;  the  Holy  Spirit  had  pos- 
session, and  everybody  was  aware  of  it.  After 
a  very  spiritual  reading  of  the  Scripture,  with 
song  and  testimony,  I  gave  the  invitation,  and 
to  my  unspeakable  joy  my  brother  not  only 
raised  his  hand  but  rose  to  his  feet  and  said: 

"  Pray  for  me." 

He  came  forward  with  some  poor  tramps, 
and  we  got  down  on  our  knees.  How  can  I 
describe  this  scene!  Here  was  my  precious 
brother,  for  whom  I  had  been  praying  so  long, 
on  his  knees  at  our  mercy-seat !  My  soul  was 
too  full  for  utterance.  It  was  a  solemn  time. 
I  dared  not  pray  aloud  myself — I  feared  I 
would  break  down,  so  I  called  on  Brother 
Smith,  rw^  assistant,  a  blessed  man  of  God,  and 


My  Brother  115 

Tie  took  my  brother  in  his  arms  of  love  and 
faith,  and  laid  him  at  Jesus'  blessed  feet. 
Jesus  took  him,  bless  His  dear  name!  Of 
course  He  did!  And  He  has  had  him  ever 
since.  Harry  was  half  deranged  from  the  ter- 
rible effects  of  drink,  and  he  turned  to  me  in  a 
sort  of  bewildered  way  and  said : 

"  Why,  Hopp,  I  can't  feel  bad  any  more." 

"  No,  my  precious  brother,"  said  I,  "  and 
you  never  will,  for  Jesus  has  taken  away  all 
your  sins."  He  soon  found  it  out.  Oh,  what 
a  night  that  was!  I  hardly  knew  whether  I 
was  in  the  body  or  out  of  the  body.  My  brother 
lived  away  up  in  One  Hundred  and  Seventieth 
Street,  in  Tremont,  and  I  went  far  on  the  road 
home  with  him.  He  came  down  nearly  every 
night,  and  always  spoke. 

He  had  been  quite  a  Tammany  politician, 
and  was  counted  a  good  lawyer,  but  the  boys 
could  not  get  him  to  drink.  He  did  smoke, 
however,  and  many  a  rub  did  he  get  in  Old 
Water  Street  Mission  about  it.  Like  most  of 
the  users  of  the  weed,  it  would  make  him  mad. 
But  God,  in  His  tenderness,  soon  showed  him 
how  to  lean  on  Him,  and  he  gave  it  up. 

He  soon  got  into  Rescue  Work  as  Superin- 
tendent of  the  Avenue  A  Mission.    It  was  then 


^j6  Down  in  Water  Street 

under  the  care  of  St.  George's  Church,  and 
though  they  had  been  running  it  for  three  years, 
they  had  no  converts,  but  men  were  converted 
from  the  very  day  my  brother  took  hold  of  it. 

After  eighteen  months*  service  there,  he  was 
called  to  start  St.  Bartholomew's  Rescue  Mis- 
sion in  East  Forty-second  Street,  under  the  care 
of  St.  Bartholomew's  Church,  the  Rev.  David 
H.  Greer,  D.D.,  Rector.  After  a  successful 
trial  in  a  store  they  had  rented,  through  the 
efforts  of  Mr.  Cornelius  Vanderbilt  and  his 
honoured  mother,  a  large  building  was  erected, 
costing  with  the  real  estate  $300,000,  and  the 
lower  hall  was  fitted  up  for  a  Rescue  Mission 
for  my  brother.  One  of  the  finest  organs  in 
the  city  was  purchased,  and  one  of  the  most 
efficient  players  in  New  York  had  charge  of  it. 
This  was  one  of  the  sights  of  the  city,  and 
scores  of  poor  drunkards  were  saved. 

After  being  there  seven  years,  my  brother 
conceived  the  plan  of  introducing  the  Church 
Army  into  this  country,  and  having  it  adopted 
as  a  branch  of  Rescue  Work  in  the  Protestant 
Episcopal  Church.  It  had  been,  and  is  now,  a 
very  important  branch  of  evangelistic  and 
rescue  work  in  the  large  cities  of  England,  and 
is  a  part  of  the  Church  of  England. 


My  Brother  217 

After  a  visit  to  England,  the  Church  Army- 
was  duly  incorporated  and  launched  in  this 
country  under  the  Parochial  Society  of  the 
Protestant  Episcopal  Church,  which  includes 
New  York  City  and  the  surrounding  towns. 
Bishop  Potter  designated  my  brother  as  Gen- 
eral of  the  United  States  Church  Army,  and 
the  work  was  begun  with  a  fine  prospect  of 
success.  In  order  to  bring  this  about,  my 
brother  found  it  necessary  to  resign  his  position 
in  the  St,  Bartholomew's  Rescue  Mission,  and 
it  has  never  been  carried  on  since. 

Two  more  large  buildings  similar  to  the  first 
have  been  erected  adjoining  it  on  the  cast,  and 
altogether,  this  is  probably  the  busiest  center  of 
operations  for  missionary  church  work  in 
this  country.  Tens  of  thousands  of  dollars  are 
spent  yearly  to  carry  it  on,  and  under  the  able 
and  superior  management  of  Dr.  Greer  and 
his  corps  of  assistants,  it  is  reaching  and  aid- 
ing more  needy  tenement  house  people  by  far 
than  any  other  single  church  in  the  city. 

A  German  church  has  also  been  started,  the 
German  converts  from  the  Rescue  Mission 
forming  the  nucleus  of  this  congregation. 

Colonel  Hadley  carried  on  the  Church  Army 
work  in  New  York  City,  and  many  of  the 


21 8  Down  in  Water  Street 

larger  Eastern  cities,  with  great  success.  His 
rescue  post  in  the  "  Red  Light  "  district  on  the 
lower  East  Side  will  be  long  remembered. 
Church  Army  Posts  were  established  in  Jersey 
City,  Yonkers,  New  Haven,  Boston,  and  New 
Bedford. 

Unfortunately,  no  financial  plan  had  been 
perfected  to  assist  Colonel  Hadley,  and  he 
became  heavily  involved.  With  the  tremen- 
dous pressure  of  work  upon  him,  and  the  neces- 
sary expenses,  he  broke  down  under  the  cease- 
less strain  and  was  compelled  to  resign  this  im- 
portant position. 

Some  years  prior  to  this,  the  Christian  Ab- 
stinence Union  had  been  conceived  by  Mr.  John 
S.  Huyler,  the  great  candy  manufacturer.  The 
idea  was  to  have  all  people  who  were  Chris- 
tians and  total  abstainers  wear  a  badge  to  show 
that  they  were  not  afraid  \o  be  known  as 
marked  men  for  God.  The  Grand  Army  men 
wear  a  button  to  show  to  all  the  world 
that  they  were  a  part  and  parcel  of  that  illus- 
trious conflict  to  preserve  our  beloved  flag  and 
country;  and  why  not  have  those  who  are 
enlisted  under  the  glorious  and  imperishable, 
blood-stained  banner  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour 
Jesus  Christ  wear  a  sign,  clearly  visible  to  all 


COL.    H.    H.    HADLEY. 


My  Brother  a  19 

the  world,  to  show  that  they,  for  Jesus*  sake, 
abstain  wholly  from  alcohol  of  every  de- 
scription— this  dreadful  evil  which  has  spread 
so  far  and  wide  even  in  the  Church  of  the  living 
God  which  He  purchased  with  His  own  blood ; 
there  is  hardly  a  church  in  our  land  which 
has  not  felt  its  deadly  influence. 

In  1892,  Mr.  Huyler,  who  is  a  splendid  or- 
ganizer, and  my  brother  joined  forces.  The 
Society  was  incorporated  according  to  the  laws 
of  the  State  of  New  York,  with  Mr.  Huyler 
as  President,  Mr.  George  F.  Langenbacher, 
Treasurer,  Colonel  Hadley,  Vice-President  and 
Superintendent.  The  badge  is  a  blue  button 
or  pin  with  a  white  cross,  a  very  pretty  emblem 
indeed,  worn  on  the  coat  or  cravat. 

For  the  last  three  years  my  brother  has  been 
gfiving  his  entire  time  to  the  blessed  gospel  of 
the  Christian  Abstainers'  Union.  It  is  non- 
political  and  interdenominational,  and  the  most 
active  Gospel  Temperance  work  now  carried 
on  in  any  country.  Its  organ  is  "  The 
Union  Gospel  News,"  of  Cleveland,  Ohio.  This 
paper  devotes  a  page  each  week,  from  my 
brother's  pen,  to  the  spread  of  this  blessed  and 
highly  successful  work. 

Over  a  year  ago  the  Colonel  broke  down 


2^0  Down  In  Water  Street 

from  heart  disease  and  nervous  prostration. 
Through  the  kind  and  skilful  agency  of  the 
great  Battle  Creek  Sanitarium  and  Dr.  J.  H. 
Kellogg,  its  president,  my  brother  has  so  far 
recovered  his  health  as  to  be  able  to  go  ahead 
in  his  work,  and  he  is  probably  reaching  more 
souls,  preventing  more  boys  from  becoming 
drunkards  and  helping  to  rescue  more  men  who 
are  drunkards,  than  he  has  ever  done  during 
the  entire  fourteen  years  of  his  busy  Christian 
life.  His  headquarters  are  at  present  at  the 
Woman's  Temple,  Chicago,  111.  He  has  started 
since  his  conversion  sixty  missions,  many  of 
which  are  being  successfully  carried  on  to-day, 
and  have  become  permanent  soul-saving  insti- 
tutions. Thousands  of  drunkards  have  knelt 
at  their  altars  and  have  become  Christian  men 
and  women. 

His  noble,  faithful  wife  has  stood  by  him 
through  it  all.  Among  his  eight  children  who 
are  living,  one  is  a  Protestant  Episcopal  clergy- 
man, and  another,  the  youngest  son,  is 
fitting  himself  for  the  ministry  at  Cambridge, 
'Mass. 

The  dear  Old  McAuley  Water  Street  Mis- 
sion is  spreading  itself  all  over  the  earth 
through  its  faithful  converts.  Praise  the  Lordl 


My  Brother  221 

*'0  the  love  that  sought  me! 
O  the  blood  that  bought  me ! 
O  the  grace  that  brought  me  to  the  fold ! 
Wondrous  grace  that  brought  me  to  His  fold  I " 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WORK 


XX 

A  GLIMPSE   OF  THE  WORK 

I  WOULD    like  to  give  the  reader,  as  he  is 
seated  in  his  comfortable  room  perusing  this 
book,  a  glimpse  of  our  work  as  it  is  carried 
on  from  day  to  day  and  from  year  to  year. 

We  live  in  the  Mission.  The  two  upper 
floors  are  given  up  to  the  living  rooms  and  the 
lower  floor  to  the  chapel,  and  we  have  in  the 
rear  a  small  kitchen,  where  we  feed  thousands 
of  hungry  men  every  year — in  fact,  no  one  is 
turned  away  who  comes  to  us  hungry.  We 
have  a  large  coffee  boiler,  and  willing  friends 
are  around  to  attend  to  those  who  need  help; 
and  thousands  come  to  us  who,  perhaps,  have 
not  had  a  bite  to  eat  for  days.  They  are  always 
received  kindly,  and  no  questions  are  asked, 
and  such  food  as  we  have  is  given  them. 

Upstairs  is  our  home.  That  is  where  my 
beloved  wife  and  our  dear  missionary,  Mrs. 
Lamont  are,  and  here  one  will  find  a  great  deal 
of  social  lif€.'  Here  the  converts  meet,  and  we 
try  to  make  everyone  feel  at  home. 
225 


226  Down  in  Water  Street 

Some  of  the  converts  are  at  our  home  every 
day,  and  the  dinner  table  is  generally  crowded. 
It  is  a  great  thing  to  have  a  man  who  once  was 
happy  in  a  lovely  home,  with  friends  gathered 
around  him,  supplied  with  ample  comfort,  but 
who  has  lost  it  all  through  drink,  and  who  for 
years  has  known  nothing  but  free  lunches,  and 
low  restaurants,  come  into  our  dining  room. 
We  think  it  is  a  blessed  gospel  to  ask  him  to 
our  table  and  have  him  sit  down  to  a  hearty 
and  wholesome  dinner,  and  supplied  with  clean 
napkins,  and  no  questions  asked. 

One  time  not  long  since  a  lady  visitor  from 
a  distant  city  said  to  me : 

"  Why,  Mr.  Hadley,  what  nice-looking  peo- 
ple these  are  seated  around  us!  I  am  aston- 
ished to  see  such  fine  people."     I  said  to  her: 

"  Don't  talk  so  loud.  Every  one  here  has  a 
record  except  my  wife  and  you  and  our  mis- 
sionary. The  longest  one  is  twenty  years  in 
the  penitentiary."  She  was  so  astonished  that 
she  nearly  forgot  to  eat  her  dinner. 

The  doors  of  the  Water  Street  Mission  are 
open  from  early  morning  until  late  at  night, 
and  it  is  a  veritable  refuge  for  discharged  con- 
victs, drunkards,  outcasts  and  men  and  women 
.in.  every  stage  of  moral  and  physical  wreck. 


"A  Glimpse  of  the  Work.  227 

Many  by  the  very  helplessness  of  their  condi- 
tion are  induced  to  hear,  and  hope  long  since 
dead  revives.  Though  they  have  only  come  in 
for  a  night's  lodging,  they  call  on  Christ  and 
are  saved.  Then  it  is  our  part  to  stand  by 
them  and  help  them  grow  in  grace,  and  get  so 
that  they  can  earn  an  honest  living.  This  is 
the  most  difficult  problem  we  have  to  solve. 
We  have  no  labor  bureau  nor,  in  fact,  any  or- 
ganized method  of  securing  work. 

The  best  plan  that  we  have  ever  tried,  the 
one  we  have  used  most  and  have  cause  to  de- 
pend on,  is  to  teach  men  to  pray  that  they  may 
get  work,  and  then  to  go  and  hunt  for  it.  Of 
course,  men  who  have  betrayed  every  trust 
would  be  glad  to  have  some  one  get  them  work, 
but  we  have  found  that  a  bad  plan.  We  have 
found  by  long  experience  that  if  a  man  is 
soundly  converted  to  God,  he  will  get  work  as 
soon  as  the  Lord  thinks  him  fitted  for  it,  and 
by  the  time  he  has  walked  over  this  town  and 
wears  out  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  has  been  turned 
down  for  a  month  or  two,  and  finally  has  been 
driven  to  God  in  despair  for  aid,  he  begins  to 
realize  what  it  costs  to  get  work,  and  what  he 
has  lost  or  thrown  away.  Meanwhile  we 
stand  by  him  and  encourage  him.     The  men 


228  Down  in  Water  Street 

attend  the  meeting  every  evening  and  tell  of 
their  trials  and  victories. 

The  greatest  strength  of  our  meetings  is  the 
testimony  of  the  converts.  It  is  recognized 
as  the  drawing  power  to  cause  men  to  take  cour- 
age and  turn  away  from  their  drunken  lives 
and  trust  Jesus.  This  dear  name,  Jesus,  is  the 
Alpha  and  Omega  of  our  Gospel.  "  He  that 
hath  the  Son  hath  life."  So  the  Son,  whose 
loving  presence  is  ever  felt  and  seen  in  our 
meetings,  is  our  Ideal,  and  as  He  is  continually 
spoken  of  and  held  up  to  the  sinner's  gaze,  the 
Holy  Spirit  reveals  Him  to  men,  and  the  sim- 
plest can  understand  and  accept  the  Friend  of 
sinners. 

Our  meetings  are  held  every  night,  and  at 
three  o'clock  on  Sunday.  They  are  invariably 
led  by  one  of  the  converts. 

This  work  is  distinctly  of  its  own  kind.  I 
have  never  seen  a  Rescue  Mission  like  it,  and 
do  not  know  of  one. 

We  cordially  invite  pastors  and  friends  from 
outside  to  come  to  our  meetings,  and  are  very 
glad  to  see  them,  but  we  do  not  need  them  to 
help  carry  on  the  work.  There  are  not  enough 
nights  in  the  week  for  those  of  our  converts  to 
lead  who  are  fully  able  to  take  charge  of  the 


A  Glimpse  of  the  Work  229 

service.  I  am  praying  now  that  some  other 
work  may  be  opened  soon  that  I  may  have  more 
room  for  grand,  redeemed  drunkards  to  be  free 
to  work  for  Grod. 

On  our  free  supper  nights  the  splendid  look- 
ing fellows  who  pass  through  the  congregation 
with  the  great  heaped-up  trays  of  bread  and 
meat  and  the  steaming  pots  of  coffee  are  all  our 
own  men,  who  came  needy  and  dying  to  our 
mercy-seat,  where  they  found  Jesus. 

During  the  past  year — 1901 — more  than 
46,000  people  attended  our  services,  the  larg- 
est part  of  whom  were  homeless  men  and 
outcast  drunkards.  Over  three  thousand  came 
up  and  knelt  at  our  mercy-seat  and  prayed  for 
themselves.  We  have  on  an  average  from 
thirty-five  to  fifty  redeemed  men  present  every 
night  in  our  congregation.  We  rarely  have 
time  to  hear  all  who  wish  to  testify  of  their 
salvation  from  lives  of  drunkenness  and  shame. 

The  writer  visits  Sing  Sing  and  other  prisons, 
and  in  the  public  meeting  invites  the  prisoners 
to  come  to  hear  him  when  their  time  expires. 
Generally  from  four  to  five  hundred  come  each 
year,  and  some  testify  each  night  to  having 
found  Jesus.  This  kind  of  work  is  very  diffi- 
cult and  expensive,  but  it  pays,  and  I  am  thank- 


230  Down  in  Water  Street 

ful  indeed  to  "have  a  Gospel  which  is  strong 
enough  and  tender  enough  to  go  to  the  very 
mouth  of  hell  itself  and  claim  a  victim  for  God. 

Ninety-nine  men  out  of  a  hundred  come 
here  because  they  are  absolutely  dying.  They 
have  not  a  cent  or  a  friend  on  earth,  are  unable 
to  get  a  cent  unless  they  steal  it,  and  their  cloth- 
ing is  scarcely  fit  for  a  ragman.  Poor  fellows ! 
Bankrupt  mentally,  physically  and  morally, 
they  come  forward  to  our  tear-stained  benches 
and  Jesus  meets  them  there  and  they  make  a 
start. 

Would  that  I  could  convey  to  the  readers  of 
this  volume  an  idea  of  the  needs  of  these  poor 
lost  men  and  women.  Satan  has  a  terrible  hold 
on  them  through  long  years  of  habit,  but  the 
light  enters,  and  we  stand  by  and  help  and  pray 
and  love  and  do  all  we  can  for  them.  I  fear  some- 
times that  Christian  people  do  not  appreciate 
the  far-reaching  results  of  our  work  down  here, 
or  we  would  not  have  to  make  such  struggles 
for  money  to  carry  it  on.  Most  of  our  con- 
verts have  come  from  homes  of  love  and  plenty, 
and  were  considered  by  their  parents  to  be  on 
the  highway  to  success  when  they  started  out 
on  the  road  of  life;  but  they  were  swept  down 
by  some  awful  temptation  and  their  downward 


A  Glimpse  of  the  Work  231 

course  was  rapid.  I  have  repeatedly  seen  men 
saved  here  while  suffering  from  delirium  tre- 
mens. Sometimes  they  are  so  drunk  that  they 
have  to  be  helped  up  the  aisle.  Sometimes  men 
are  saved  from  drinking-,  smoking  and  chewing 
before  they  rise  from  their  knees. 

The  tobacco  question  is  a  difficult  one  and 
not  easily  to  be  disposed  of.  Some  men  get 
under  deep  conviction  about  their  tobacco,  and 
if  they  do  not  give  it  up  they  fall,  while  others 
equally  conscientious  have  no  scruples  about  it, 
or  seem  not  to  have  any. 

One  of  our  grand  men  was  a  fearful  drunk- 
ard when  he  came  here.  He  seemed  unable 
to  get  help  but  for  a  short  time.  The  last  time 
he  came  up  for  prayers  I  had  to  send  him  to 
Bellevue  Hospital  with  the  horrors.  This  man 
was  a  perfect  fiend  after  tobacco.  After  he  was 
converted  he  would  pick  up  cigar  butts  in  the 
street,  cut  off  the  ends  and  chew  them,  because 
he  could  not  buy  any  weed  strong  enough.  He 
had  work  in  the  Street-sweeping  Department, 
and  after  he  was  saved  he  became  so  ashamed 
that  he  would  look  all  around  before  picking  up 
cigar  stumps,  to  see  if  he  was  being  watched. 
Then  he  went  to  God  and  asked  Him  to  save 
him  from  the  habit.     He  went  for  a  week  with- 


232  Down  in  Water  Street 

out  it,  and  one  day  while  sweeping  the  streets 
his  agony  was  so  dreadful  that  he  thought  he 
could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  looked  at  hi? 
watch,  and  it  was  nine  o'clock,  and  as  he  wa? 
near  a  tobacco  store  he  said : 

"  When  it  is  ten  o'clock  I  will  go  and  buy  a 
plug  of  tobacco."  But  when  ten  o'clock  came 
he  forgot  all  about  it,  and  he  has  never  wanted 
a  chew  since.  The  dear  Lord  saw  that  he  was 
about  to  yield,  and  in  His  tender  pity  He  re- 
moved the  desire  forever. 

I  have  been  unusually  blessed  with  co-work- 
ers since  I  came  here.  Mrs.  Sarah  Sherwood 
was  with  us  for  ten  years  after  we  came  to 
Water  Street — Mother  Sherwood,  as  we  all 
called  her.  Probably  this  woman  has  shaken 
hands  with  more  drunkards  than  any  other 
woman  in  this  city.  She  was  of  a  distinguished 
Connecticut  family.  Two  of  her  brothers  have 
been  Governors  of  their  native  State. 

The  converts  of  the  Mission  who  knew  Mrs. 
Sherwood  will  never  forget  her.  She  'helped 
to  bear  their  sorrows,  and  to  share  their  joys. 
They  all  leaned  on  her  in  time  of  trouble,  and 
backsliders  always  found  in  her  a  willing  ear 
and  a  heart  full  of  sympathy.  At  the  same 
time,  she  dug  them  out,  and  if  they  were  living 


A  Glimpse  of  the  Work  2^3 

on  false  hopes  she  was  quick  to  detect  it.  No 
one  could  more  lovingly  or  skilfully  uncover  a 
liar  or  a  fraud  than  she  could,  and  after  doing 
so  no  one  would  stand  by  them  more  lovingly 
and  faithfully,  helping  them  to  right  the  wrong. 
Her  sweet  and  gracious  presence  was  well 
known  in  all  the  dens  and  dives  about  here, 
and  when  she  entered  a  saloon  or  house  of  evil 
resort  the  swearing  and  vile  talk  instantly 
ceased  and  the  barkeeper  would  not  wait  on 
customers  while  the  "  mission  lady  "  was  pres- 
ent. She  procured  hundreds  of  dollars  from 
the  merchants  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  and 
so  amiable  was  her  manner  that  invitations 
were  extended  to  her  to  come  again,  and  she 
was  not  slow  to  accept  them. 

Mr.  Franklin  Smith  was  also  with  us  all  this 
time — a  tender,  modest,  lovable  man,  mighty 
in  faith  and  prayer.  He  never  knew  the  evils 
of  drink,  but  he  sympathized  deeply  with  those 
who  did.  He  died  shortly  after  Mrs.  Sher- 
wood. 

Mrs.  Mary  W.  Bentley  was  also  a  mission- 
ary for  some  five  years.  She  lived  here,  and 
her  love  and  faith  for  lost  men  and  women 
were  boundless.  I  never  saw  her  out  of 
patience.     She  was  drawn  to  men  only  because 


234  Down  in  Water  Street 

they  were  sinners  sinking  down  to  destruction, 
and  needed  a  friend.  She  was  a  great  sufferer 
for  months  before  her  death,  but  always  prayed 
for  us  to  the  last,  and  sent  messages  of  love  to 
those  whom  she  loved  and  had  led  to  Jesus. 

A  book  could  be  written  of  either  of  these 
devoted  Christian  lives.  These  ladies  had 
ample  means  to  support  themselves,  but  chose 
to  come  here  to  work,  because  here  is  where 
the  sinners  come,  and  here  is  where  they  can 
be  reached. 

Our  present  missionary,  Mrs.  Lida  M.  La- 
mont,  our  faithful  and  tireless  friend,  has  been 
with  us  for  over  five  years.  My  beloved  wife 
and  Mrs.  Lamont  are  the  only  ladies  who  live 
in  the  building. 

One  of  my  assistants  for  five  years  was 
Mr.  Harry  E.  Prentice,  a  redeemed  man  from 
England,  who  about  a  year  ago  went  into  busi- 
ness life;  but  he  still  holds  his  connection  with 
us,  and  often  leads  our  meetings  on  Sunday 
evenings. 

Our  present  assistant  is  Mr.  John  H.  Wy- 
burn,  who  was  saved  in  this  Mission,  while  very 
drunk,  over  thirteen  years  ago.  Three  years 
of  this  time  he  was  Superintendent  of  the  Bow- 
cry.  Mission,  and  we  are  thankful  to  have  him 


JOHN   H.    WYBURN. 

Assistant   Superintendent. 


A  Glimpse  of  the  Work  235 

here  now,  and  we  trust  that  he  will  remain  as 
long  as  we  do. 

Our  Trustees  are,  John  S.  Huyler,  Presi- 
dent; B.  DeF.  Curtiss,  Secretary;  R.  Fulton 
Cutting,  Treasurer;  W.  T.  Wardwell,  Walter 
M.  Smith,  the  Rev.  J.  Frederick  Talcott,  S.  W. 
Bowne,  Col.  A.  P.  Ketchum,  A.  N.  Ryerson 
and  Christian  F.  Tietjen. 

The  reader  will  notice  that  our  Board  of 
Trustees  comprise  some  of  the  grandest  Chris- 
tian men  in  the  City  of  New  York.  I  would  be 
glad  to  speak  of  them  individually  in  this  book, 
for  they  richly  deserve  it.  The  love  and  pa- 
tience and  generosity  with  which  they  deal  with 
the  writer  cannot  be  spoken  of  here,  but  I  feel 
I  must  say  a  word  about  our  President,  Mr. 
Huyler.  Who  can  ever  measure  in  words  what 
a  blessing  he  has  been  to  this  work ! 

He  came  to  us  years  ago  when  we  were  strug- 
gling for  an  existence.  He  was  first  brought 
to  Water  Street  by  Mr.  C.  H.  Bernard,  one  of 
our  beloved  leaders.  It  was  supper  night,  and 
it  happened  that  on  that  very  night  our  funds 
were  exhausted.  That  was  about  fourteen 
years  ago.  The  writer  had  informed  the  boys 
who  composed  this  motley  crowd  that  the  sup- 
per money  was  exhausted,  and  they  need  not 


2^6  Down  hi  Water  Street 

come  the  next  week.  He  was  sorry,  and  was 
ready  to  cry,  but  the  dear  fellows  relieved  him 
by  saying: 

"  We  know  you  are  sorry,  Mr.  Hadley,  and 
we  know  you  would  give  it  to  us  if  you  could, 
and  we  are  thankful  for  the  suppers  that  you 
have  given  us  each  week  during  the  past  year." 
They  spoke  right  out  in  meeting.  At  the  close 
the  usual  invitation  was  given,  and  twenty-six 
men  came  up  for  prayers.  Mr.  Huyler  sat 
among  the  congregation  a  very  interested  spec- 
tator.    Just  before  we  knelt  for  prayer  he  said : 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  now?  " 

I  said :  "  We  are  going  to  pray.  Brother 
Huyler,  pray  for  these  poor  fellows."  Then 
came  a  silence,  and  I  supposed  I  had  made  a 
mistake.  But  very  soon  a  tearful  voice  began 
this  petition: 

''Oh,  Lord!  Brother  Hadley  says  'Pray 
for  these  poor  fellows.'  Dear  Lord,  I  need 
praying  for  as  badly  as  they  do.  Oh,  Jesus, 
help  me,  and  save  us  all ! " 

Never  had  I  seen  such  an  effect  as  was  pro- 
duced by  this  earnest,  honest  petition  to  the 
throne  of  grace.  Dear  Mr.  Huyler  wept ;  the 
poor  drunkards  around  him  wept,  and  the  Holy 
Ghost  came  down.    Quite  a  number  were  saved 


A  Glimpse  of  the  Work  1237 

that  night  in  answer  to  this  heartfelt  prayer. 
From  that  night  to  this,  Mr.  Huyler  has  fur- 
nished the  money  for  our  free  suppers  once  a 
week.     The  cost  is  about  $500  a  year. 

Brother  Huyler  loves  men  with  the  spirit  of 
the  Master,  simply  because  nobody  else  loves 
them.  He  loves  them  because  they  are  down. 
How  many  lessons  has  the  writer  learned  from 
this  devoted,  busy,  hard-working  child  of  God ! 
Often  when  business  cares  seem  to  over- 
whelm him  he  takes  the  time  to  have  me  come 
into  his  office  and  tells  me  of  some  poor,  dis- 
tressed man  who  has  fallen,  and  fallen,  and 
fallen,  and  perhaps  has  written  him  a  letter, 
abusing  him  to  the  full  extent  of  the  English 
language.  With  tears  in  his  eyes  Mr.  Huyler 
says: 

"  Oh,  Brother  Hadley,  how  can  we  get  hold 
of  this  poor  fellow  and  bring  him  to  Christ  ?  " 
He  loves  his  fellow  men. 

"  By  this  shall  all  men  know  that  ye  are  my 
disciples,  if  ye  have  love  one  to  another." 
John  xiii :  35. 


238  Down  in  Water  Street 

ABOU  BEN  ADHEM 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase !) 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace, 
And  saw  within  the  moonlight  of  his  room. 
Making  it  rich  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 

An  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold : 

Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold, 

And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he  said, 

"What   writest  thou?" — The  vision   raised   its  head. 

And,  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord, 

Answered,  "The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord." 

"And  is  mine  one?"  said  Abou    "Nay,  not  so," 
Replied  the  angel.    Abou  spoke  more  low. 
But  cheerily  still ;   and  said :    "  I  pray  thee,  then. 
Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellow  men." 

The  Angel  wrote,  and  vanished.    The  next  night 
It  came  again,  with  a  great  wakening  light, 
And  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  blessed, 
And,  lo,  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest! 

Leigh  Hunt. 


J.    S.    HUYLER, 
President  of  McAnley  Mlaalon. 


A  PERSONAL  TRIBUTE 


A  PERSONAL  TRIBUTE 

Remarks  at  the  funeral  of  Samuel  H.  Hadley, 
Feb.  12,  igo6. 
By  Rev.  J.  Wilbur  Chapman,  D.  D. 

Dear  J^r lends: — 

We  are  gathered  together  here  this  afternoon  to  pay 
tribute  to  one  of  the  greatest  men  New  York  has  ever 
produced,  and  I  think  I  might  also  say  one  of  the 
greatest  Americans  any  of  us  have  ever  known.  His 
greatness  was  not  measured  by  his  possession  of  wealth, 
and  yet  I  think  there  were  very  few  people  who  had 
such  an  influence  over  men  of  wealth  as  he,  nor  was 
his  greatness  indicated  by  what  the  world  calls  fame, 
for  there  were  many  more  famous  men  than  he  in  this 
city  and  in  our  beloved  land,  but  if  greatness  is  to  be 
measured  by  a  passion  for  souls  and  by  a  spirit  of  love 
and  by  a  Christlikeness  in  all  that  he  said  or  did  or 
thought,  then  I  say  again  I  believe  that  S.  H.  Hadley 
was  one  of  the  greatest  men  in  the  City  of  New  York 
and  easily  one  of  the  greatest  in  the  United  States. 

If  I  speak  briefly  to-day  it  must  be  remembered  I 
am  speaking  out  of  a  full  heart  and  if  my  utterances 
seem  broken  then  please  do  not  forget  that  my  emotion 
is  almost  beyond  my  control.  It  is  as  if  one  had  been 
called  to  stand  beside  the  casket  of  his  own  brother^ 
241 


242  A  Personal  Tribute 

and  yet  he  was  more  to  me  than  a  brother ;  or  it  is  as 
if  one  were  standing  beside  the  casket  of  a  member 
of  his  own  household  for  I  think  I  could  almost  say 
that  my  affection  for  S.  H.  Hadley  was  as  deep  and 
tender  as  for  those  who  are  of  my  own  flesh  and 
blood,  and  I  say  the  truth  when  I  declare  that  I  had 
rather  be  S.  H.  Hadley  lying  dead  in  his  coffin,  hav- 
ing stirred  these  gracious  memories  in  the  minds  of 
so  many  of  us,  and  having  changed  so  many  lives  for 
good,  than  to  be  what  the  world  would  call  New 
York's  most  famous  citizen. 

For  twenty-three  years,  nine  months  and  ten  blessed 
days  he  lived  the  life  of  a  Christian  and  then  came  his 
translation  into  the  presence  of  his  Saviour. 

He  was  great  in  every  way.  He  inherited  a  great 
ancestry.  The  blood  of  Jonathan  Edwards  throbbed 
in  his  veins,  and  this  may  in  part  account  for  his  pas- 
sion for  souls  and  his  desire  to  see  the  world  moved 
for  God.  His  own  father  was  a  man  of  great  strength 
of  character  and  his  mother  was  a  gentle  soul  of 
whom  S.  H.  Hadley  delighted  often  to  speak.  He 
had  a  way  of  saying  Jesus  as  few  men  could  say  it, 
but  he  also  had  a  way  of  saying  mother  that  always 
stirred  my  heart.  I  have  travelled  with  him  on  the 
train,  and  had  him  as  my  guest  in  my  home  and 
listened  to  the  stories  of  his  mother's  devotion  and 
have  been  thrilled  through  and  through. 

He  made  a  great  wreck  of  his  life.  Such  a  story 
of  depravity  rarely  falls  from  human  lips.  I  have 
beard  that  story  hundreds  of  times  and  it  has  always 


A  Personal  Tribute  243 

seemed  to  me  as  if  it  could  not  possibly  be  true.  He 
was  a  man  of  the  finest  spirit  imaginable  and  as  pure 
and  true  and  good  as  any  one  I  have  ever  known.  I 
have  heard  him  say  that  he  used  in  the  days  of  sin  to 
swear  in  his  sleep,  and  to  think  that  these  lips  which 
are  now  sealed  in  death,  which  have  stirred  so  many 
thousands  of  people,  could  ever  have  been  used  to 
utter  a  profane  expression  seems  to  me  to  be  incredible, 
and  yet  I  suppose  the  story  of  his  sin  is  darker  really 
than  he  painted  it. 

He  had  a  great  repentance.  I  heard  the  Bishop  of 
Connecticut  preach  an  Evangelistic  sermon  the  other 
evening  in  which  he  declared  that  in  repentance  one 
had  to  return  as  far  to  God  as  he  had  wandered  from 
Him,  and  while  this  is  true  I  could  not  help  but  think 
as  he  uttered  the  expression  that  the  difference  be- 
tween the  returning  and  the  going  away  was  this,  that 
in  the  coming  back  Jesus  is  with  you  all  the  way. 
This  was  especially  true  of  this  dear  man  whom  we 
all  love.  I  have  never  known  any  one  to  love  Jesus 
so  devotedly  and  I  have  never  known  one  in  all  my 
life  to  be  so  like  Christ  as  S.  H.  Hadley  as  he  limped 
his  way  through  the  streets  of  this  great  city  always 
helping  the  fallen  and  seeking  the  lost. 

He  had  a  great  recovery  from  his  failure.  Such 
hatred  of  sin  as  he  had  I  have  never  seen,  such  an  ap- 
preciation of  grace  I  have  never  known,  such  a  rev- 
erence for  God  I  have  not  seen  in  any  other  life,  such 
passionate  devotion  to  Jesus  Christ  has  never  yet  been 
revealed  to  me  in  the  experience  of  any  one,  and 


244  ^  Personal  Tribute 

when  I  think  of  him  as  he  has  been  for  these  twenty- 
three  years  and  then  set  this  life  over  against  what  he 
was  for  so  many  dreary,  dreary  years,  I  say  again,  he 
had  a  great  recovery. 

He  preached  a  great  salvation.  No  one  was  too 
far  away  from  God  for  him,  no  life  was  ever  too  low 
in  his  estimation  for  salvation,  and  no  one  was  ever 
too  hopeless  for  him  not  to  make  an  effort  to  lead 
them  to  Christ.  He  had  an  uttermost  salvation  for 
every  wandering  sinner. 

At  the  foot  of  a  cliff,  under  the  windows  of  the 
Castle  Miramar,  formerly  the  residence  of  Maximilian 
the  Mexican  emperor,  at  a  depth  of  eighty  feet  below 
the  surface  of  the  Adriatic's  clear  waters,  is  a  kind  of 
cage  fashioned  by  divers  in  the  face  of  the  rock.  In 
that  cage  are  some  of  the  most  magnificent  pearls  in 
existence.  They  belong  to  the  Archduchess  Rainer. 
Having  been  left  unworn  for  a  long  time,  the  gems 
lost  their  colour  and  became  "sick,"  and  experts  were 
unanimous  in  declaring  that  the  only  way  to  restore 
their  original  brilliancy  was  to  submit  them  to  a  pro- 
longed immersion  in  the  depths  of  the  sea.  They 
have  been  lying  there  now  for  a  number  of  years, 
and  are  gradually  regaining  their  former  unrivalled 
oriency. 

Just  what  the  sea  is  doing  to  those  priceless  pearls 
to-day  S.  H.  Hadley  was  constantly  doing  for  the 
poor  lost  men  and  women  in  our  great  city.  I  want 
to  ask  Mr.  James  Edwards  to  stand  up  just  now  in 
your  presence  »nd  permit  me  to  say  that  this  was  the 


A  Personal  Tribute  245 

first  man  S.  H.  Hadley  ever  led  to  Jesus  Christ,  and 
now  if  there  were  time  I  would  call  upon  hundreds 
of  other  men  who  are  here,  clothed  and  in  their  right 
mind  to  pass  before  you  and  declare  as  they  passed 
that  the  influence  of  S.  H.  Hadley  has  brought  them 
back  to  the  image  and  likeness  of  God.  Pearl  fisher- 
men say  that  the  deeper  the  water  the  more  priceless 
the  pearls.  I  do  not  know  that  this  is  true  but  I  do 
know  that  from  the  deepest  depths  of  sin  S.  H.  Had- 
ley secured  some  of  his  greatest  trophies. 

The  first  time  I  ever  saw  this  blessed  man  was  here 
in  the  City  of  New  York  in  a  dive.  I  had  been  asked 
to  see  the  city  at  its  worst  and  I  confess  with  shame 
that  I  set  out  to  look  at  lost  men  and  lost  women  with 
a  spirit  of  curiosity,  but  when  I  had  crossed  the 
threshold  of  the  first  saloon  and  saw  S.  H.  Hadley 
throw  his  arms  about  a  drunkard's  shoulders  I  lost  my 
curiosity.  When  I  walked  with  him  into  a  house  of 
ill  repute,  beheld  him  lay  his  hand  upon  the  head  of 
a  fallen  girl  and  bathe  her  upturned  face  with  his  tears, 
I  had  a  new  conception  of  what  it  was  to  have  a  pas- 
sion for  souls.  And  when  I  said  good-night  to  him 
that  night  he  took  my  hand  and  pressed  it  and  said, 
"  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  How  can  people  so  forget  God." 
Then  he  said,  '*  My  Brother,  always  preach  a  Gospel 
that  can  save  such  as  these."  If  there  has  been  any 
tenderness  in  my  preaching  I  think  I  owe  much  of  it 
to  this  dear  soul  who  lies  before  us  in  his  casket 
to-day. 

The  last  time  I  saw  him  was  in  the  city  of  Syracuse 


246  A  Personal  Tribute 

less  than  two  weeks  ago.  He  came  to  the  hotel  where 
I  was  stopping  and  with  a  smile  upon  his  face  entered 
the  door  of  the  room  where  I  was  sitting  and  said, 
*'  Well  I  thought  I  would  just  come  and  see  you.  I 
have  nothing  to  do  for  a  little  while  and  we'll  just  visit 
together."  He  told  the  matchless  story  of  his  con- 
version as  I  have  never  heard  him  tell  it  before  and 
when  his  visit  was  over  he  clasped  my  hand  and  said 
good-bye.  "  We'll  go  South  together  and  I  will  labor 
with  you  in  Texas  to  save  the  drunkard,"  and  I  feel 
crushed  to-day  when  I  realize  that  this  plan  can  never 
be  carried  out  and  that  S.  H.  Hadley  is  gone  from  us. 
Between  these  two  extremes  of  our  acquaintance 
stretched  the  most  beautiful  life  I  have  ever  known 
anything  about.  I  have  seen  him  praying  with  the  lost 
drunkard,  and  pleading  with  the  fallen  woman.  In 
California  I  was  making  an  appeal  just  following  his 
own  address  when  I  heard  a  gentleman  say  to  him, 
*'  Mr.  Hadley,  you  don't  know  me  but  I  am  Jimmy 

,"  and  this  great  man  said,  "  Are  you  ?    Your 

mother  told  me  that  I  might  see  you  out  here  and  she 
asked  me  to  look  for  you.  Let  us  get  down  on  our 
knees  and  pray  here,"  and  they  dropped  upon  their 
knees  and  while  I  was  pleading  with  the  people  to 
turn  to  Christ  this  wandering  boy  came  back  again 
into  the  fold.  And  last  Sunday  night  Mrs.  Hadley 
tells  me  there  came  a  man  who  had  been  a  drunkard 
into  Water  Street  and  going  up  to  the  casket  which 
holds  the  remains  of  our  beloved  friend  he  sobbed  as 
if  his  heart  would  break,  saying,  **  S.  H.  Hadley  in 


A  Personal  Tribute  247 

his  life  gave  me  a  vision  of  Christ.  I  would  to  God 
that  I  might  see  Him  again  in  his  death." 

He  was  a  true  friend.  I  have  received  two  special 
inheritances  from  him.  The  one  is  a  sentence  he  said 
when  in  speaking  of  his  other  friends  he  mentioned 
my  name,  declaring  "  that  he  could  do  more  for  me 
at  the  throne  than  he  could  do  here."  I  therefore 
must  be  a  different  preacher  from  to-day.  There  must 
be  a  new  pathos  and  tenderness  in  my  message  and  by 
the  grace  of  God  there  shall  be. 

The  other  is  his  cane  which  he  used.  He  will  not 
need  it  again  but  I  shall  keep  it  in  memory  of  the 
man  who  limped  his  way  through  life  with  the  spirit 
of  Jesus  shining  out  in  all  that  he  did. 

He  was  the  finest  example  of  love  I  have  ever  seen. 
At  our  Winona  Bible  Conference  last  year  one  of  the 
lecturers  made  the  statement  that  if  people  called  upon 
us  for  help  we  must  investigate  them.  They  were 
both  sitting  early  in  the  morning  outside  my  bedroom 
window,  and  I  heard  their  conversation.  "  Brother 
George,"  said  Mr.  Hadley,  "you  must  not  investi- 
gate ;  that  is  not  the  spirit  of  Jesus.  What  if  He  had 
investigated  me  when  I  came  to  Him.  I  never  could 
have  been  saved  in  the  world." 

He  was  a  cultured  gentleman.  He  had  a  way  of 
making  the  lost,  those  farthest  away  from  God,  and 
the  outcast  feel  that  he  was  one  with  them  and  yet 
whenever  he  entered  the  home  of  the  rich,  distinguished 
men  and  women  were  quick  to  recognize  his  worth 
and  his  greatness. 


24B 


A  Personal  Tribute 


He  was  a  great  man  any  way  you  view  him.  For 
ten  blessed  years  he  has  been  at  our  Winona  Bible 
Conference.  No  greater  speaker  has  ever  appeared 
upon  our  platform,  no  greater  name  has  ever  been 
printed  on  our  program.  We  have  had  some  of  the 
world's  intellectual  giants  but  S.  H.  Hadley  shone 
with  the  brightest  of  them.  Ministers  loved  him ; 
they  sat  at  his  feet  as  willing  listeners  to  the  truth  that 
fell  from  his  lips,  and  of  all  the  men  I  have  ever 
known,  in  his  own  way  of  working,  I  consider  him 
the  greatest  of  all  my  acquaintance.  His  going 
away  has  left  us  desolate.  The  world  actually  seems 
a  lonesome  place  to  live.  New  York  seems  to  me  to 
have  lost  something,  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  best  of  it 
has  gone  away  and  I  can  never  again  think  of  the  city 
as  being  what  it  has  been  in  the  past  when  S.  H.  Had- 
ley lived  and  loved  and  worked  here  in  the  spirit  of 
Jesus.  Some  of  us  can  never  be  the  same  again,  for 
we  have  lost  our  dearest  friend.  Some  family  circles 
will  never  be  the  same  for  he  was  counted  as  a  mem- 
ber of  many  a  household.  One  of  my  children  has 
prayed  for  him  every  night  since  infancy.  "  God  bless 
Mr.  Hadley  and  the  Water  Street  Mission,"  has  been 
her  petition  since  she  was  a  baby.  It  was  a  high  day 
in  our  household  when  S.  H.  Hadley  came  to  see  us. 
From  the  baby  on  the  one  side  through  all  the  mem- 
bers of  the  household  to  the  father  on  the  other  we 
lined  up  to  give  him  a  greeting  and  while  he  tarried 
with  us  our  home  was  like  heaven.  We  laughed  and 
cried,  sang  and  shouted  with  him  and  when  he  went 


A  Personal  Tribute  249 

away  it  seemed  as  if  there  was  a  vacancy  which  no 
one  else  could  ever  fill  and  now  he  will  never  come  to 
us  again. 

His  going  into  heaven  must  have  caused  a  great 
commotion  and  yesterday  must  have  been  a  great  day 
indeed  for  all  the  saints  with  S.  H.  Hadley  in  the 
midst  of  them. 

I  have  a  friend  who  tells  the  story  told  long  ago  by 
William  Arthur,  the  author  of  the  "  Tongue  of  Fire," 
of  one  of  his  old  friends,  Robert  Sutcliffe,  an  aged 
man,  is  represented  as  coming  to  see  him.  They 
talked  together  and  the  visitor  said,  "  And  did  you 
know  that  so  and  so  was  dead  ?  "  And  he  said,  "  Is 
he  ?  "  And  then  he  said,  **  And  this  one  is  gone  and 
the  other,"  mentioning  their  names,  and  Robert  Sut- 
cliffe said,  "So  they  have  all  gone.  I  suppose," 
he  said,  **  some  of  those  men  will  meet  in  heaven  one 
day  and  say,  *  Where  is  Robert  Sutcliffe,  he  must 
have  lost  his  way.' "  And  then  he  was  still  for  a 
moment  and  opening  his  eyes  and  with  a  smile  ex- 
claimed, "  But  I  think  not.  I  shall  go  home  soon 
and  I  can  hear  those  aged  friends  of  mine  shouting  as 
they  climb  the  steeps  of  heaven,  *  Here  comes  Robert 
Sutcliffe.  He  has  not  lost  his  way,'  "  and  I  have 
thought  it  might  be  something  like  that  with  S.  H. 
Hadley.  I  imagine  that  the  redeemed  drunkards  in 
heaven  must  have  had  a  great  meeting  as  they  shouted 
one  to  another,  **  Here  comes  S.  H.  Hadley,  he  has 
not  lost  his  way."  I  have  tried  to  imagine  his  meet- 
ing with  Jerry  McCauley,  Colonel  Atkinson,  Phil  Mc- 


250  A  Personal  Tribute 

Guire  and  his  own  loved  brother,  but  my  imagination 
fails.  Farewell,  dear  friend,  farewell.  We  shall  meet 
one  morning  in  glory. 


Certificate  of  Incorporation" 

OF  THE 

McAULEY  WATER  STREET  MISSION 

State  of  New  York,  j^ 

City  and  County  of  New  York.  ) 

Be  it  known  to  all  to  whom  this  Certificate 
may  come,  or  whom  it  may  concern,  that  Sid- 
ney Whittemore,  Alfrederick  S.  Hatch, 
John  D.  Phyfe,  Jerry  McAuley,  and  Frank 
Storrs,  being  each  and  every  one  of  them  of 
full  age,  and  citizens  and  residents  of  the  State 
of  New  York,  do  hereby  certify,  that  in  pursu- 
ance of,  and  in  conformity  with,  the  provisions 
of  an  Act  of  the  Legislature  of  the  State  of 
New  York  entitled :  "  An  act  for  the  incorpora- 
tion of  Benevolent,  Charitable,  Scientific,  and 
Missionary  Societies,  passed  April  12th,  1848," 
and  of  the  several  acts  extending  and  amending 
the  said  act,  we  have  associated  ourselves  to- 
gether, and  form  a  body  politic  and  corporate 
251 


252  Down  in  Water  Street 

with  any  others  that  may  hereafter  become  as- 
sociated with  us,  for  the  promotion  of  the 
objects  of  said  Corporation. 

First. — That  the  Corporate  name  of  said 
Association  is  declared  to  be,  and  shall  be 
known  as  the  "  McAuley  Water  Street 
Mission/' 

Second. — That  the  particular  business  and 
objects  of  such  Association  are  and  shall  be  to 
do  good  to  the  souls  and  bodies  of  all  who  may 
come  under  its  influence,  by  proclaiming  to 
them  the  truths  of  the  Holy  Bible,  and  salva- 
tion through  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  by  giving 
them  religious  instruction,  by  lifting  up  the 
fallen,  by  aiding  the  tempted,  and  encouraging 
them  in  their  efforts  to  escape  from  their  habits 
and  appetites,  and  by  providing  a  place  to 
which  whomsoever  will  may  freely  come  for 
Christian  worship  and  fellowship,  for  the  pro- 
motion of  Godliness,  and  for  mutual  encour- 
agement in  the  Christian  life. 

Third. — That  the  number  of  Trustees  for  the 
first  year  of  this  Organization  shall  be  three, 
viz. : 

Sidney  Whittemore  residing  at  No.  85  Park 
Avenue  in  the  City  of  New  York,  John  D. 
Phyfe  residing  at  No.  128  East  57th  Street  in 


o 


Certificate  of  Incorporation        253 

the  City  of  New  York,  and  Alfrederick  S. 
Hatch  residing  at  No.  49  Park  Avenue  in  the 
City  of  New  York,  who  shall  also  be  the  di- 
rectors and  managers  of  the  affairs  of  the  As- 
sociation under  such  by-laws  as  may  be  made 
for  that  purpose,  and  who  shall  have  the  power 
to  appoint  such  officers  as  the  business  and  ob- 
jects of  the  Association  may  require. 

Fourth.— Th&t  the  principal  office  and  place 
of  business  of  the  Association  shall  be  in  the 
City,  County,  and  State  of  New  York. 

In  witness  whereof  we  have  hereunto  sever- 
ally subscribed  our  names  and  affixed  our  seals 
in  the  City  of  New  York  this  ninth  day  of  De- 
cember, Anno  Domini  1876. 

Sidney  Whittemore  [seal.] 

Alfrederick  S.  Hatch  [seal.] 

John  D.  Phyfe  [seal.] 

Jerry  McAuley  [seal.] 

Frank  Storrs  [seal.] 

State  of  New  York^  ) 

City  and  County  of  New  York.  )  ^  * 

On  this  ninth  day  of  December,  in  the  year 
of  our  Lord  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
seventy-six,  before  me  personally  came  Sidney 


234  Down  in  Water  Street 

Whittemore,  Alfredcrick  S.  Hatch,  John  D. 
Phyfe,  Jerry  McAul^,  and  Frank  Storrs,  to 
me  known  to  be  the  individuals  described  in  and 
who  executed  the  foregoing  instrument,  and 
who  severally  acknowledged  that  they  executed 
the  same. 

Wm.  C.  McKean, 
[notarial  seal.]  Notary  Public. 

New  York  City  and  County. 

I,  one  of  the  Justices  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
the  State  of  New  York  in  the  First  Judicial 
District,  do  consent  to  and  approve  of  the  filing 
of  the  within  Articles  of  Incorporation. 

Dated  New  York,  Dec.  nth,  1876. 

Chas.  Donohue, 
Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court. 


FORM  OF  BEQUEST 

I  Give  and   Bequeath    to   the   McAULEY 
WATER    STREET  MISSION,    located   at 
No.  jj6    Water  Street,  New    York  City,  the 
sum  of  $ 


The  I^test  incrroN 

THE    INSPIRING    SORT 


Janet  Ward.     A  Daughter  of  the  Manser 
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Love  Never  Faileth.  An  Emotion 
Touched  By  Moralities.  Br  Carnegie 
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To  the  thousands  of  readers  who  know  "Fishin'  Jimmy" 
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The  Little  Green  God.     A  Satire  on 

American  Hinduism. 

By  Caroline  Atwater  Mason.     75c. 

By  the  author  of  "The  Lily  of  France."  Pungent,  witty, 
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FLEMING  H.  REVELL   COMPANY 
NEW  YORK  CHICAGO  TORONTO 


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25th  x.ooo 
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Illustrated,  izmo.     Cloth    |!i.$o. 

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Bj  tbt  author  •/  "^Thi  Sfanith  Brothtrt" 

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hinuelf  of  the  meagre  Biblical  material." — Tht  OutUtk 
Biihtfi  Broois  and  the  Boittn  Slumi. 

The  Bishop's  Shadow.  By  Mrs.  I.  T 
Thurston.  With  illustrations  by  M 
EcKERSoN.      i2mo,  Cloth,  $1.25. 

**A  captivating  story  of  dear  Phillips  Brooks  and  a  little 
•treet  gamin  'f  Boston.  The  book  sets  forth  the  almost  match 
less  character  of  the  CbrUtlike  bishop  in  most  loving  and  lovely 
lines." — The  Interior, 


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RALPH    CONNOR'S 

CRISP  WESTERN  TALES 


looth  i,ooo 
Glengarry   School   Days,      a  "I'ale  of 
Early    Days    in    Glengarry.       Illustrated, 
l2mo.  Cloth,  1 1. 2  5. 

"Wonderfully  vivid  and  realistic— Indeed  it  is  a  fair  ques- 
tion whether  the  author  has  not  given  us  in  this  book  some  bits 
not  equalled  elsewhere." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

1 60th   1,000 

The  Man  from  Glengarry.     A  Tale  of 
the  Ottawa.      i2mo.  Cloth,  1^1.50. 

"Bears  the  unmistakable  mark  of  power." — Chicago  Inter- 
Oeean. 

"There  is  pathos,  subtle  wit,  humor,  quaint  character  draw- 
ing.   .    .    .   Life,  warmth,  color  are  all  here." — Br-oklyn  EagU. 

200th   1,000 

The  Sky  Pilot.     A  Tale  of  the  Foothills. 
l2mo.  Cloth,  1 1. 2  5. 

"Ralph  Connor's  'Black  Rock'  was  good,  but  'The  Sky 
Pilot'  is  better.  His  style,  fresh,  crisp  and  terse,  accords  with 
the  Western  life,which  he  well  understands." — TA<  Outlook. 

400th   1,000 

Black    Rock.      A    Tale    of   the   Selkirb. 
i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.25. 

Popular  Edition  fo  cents.  Special  Edition  75  cents. 

"With  perfect  wholesomeness,  with  entire  fidelity,  with 
truest  pathos,  with  freshest  humor,  he  has  delineated  character, 
has  analyzed  motives  and  emotions,  and  hrts  portrayed  lite." 

— St.  Louis  Globe  Democrat. 


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TAUES   OW   "XGaiA  WORTH  BY 

Egerton  R.  Y"ouNa 


My  Dogs  in  the  North- 
land. 

Profuteljr  nitutnted. 
izmo,  doth,^i.zs  net. 
Experiences  with  Eskimo 
and  St.  Bernard  dogs, 
covering  yean  of  sledge 
travel  in  the  frozen  wild* 
ot  British  America.  An 
exciting  story  in  which 
the  marvels  otdog  instinct. 
Intelligence  and  strength 
play  the  chief  part.  Mr. 
Young  proves  in  a  most 
entertaining  and  Instruc- 
tive way  that  each  dog, 
jiut  as  much  as  a  person, 
tuts  hu  own  Individual 
character,  and  must  be 
dealt  with  accordingly. 
Teriiole  perils,  wonderful 
escapes  and  sudden  emer> 
gendes  mix  with  the  most 
comical  situation*. 

On  the  Indian  Trail. 

Stories  ot  Missionary 
Experiences  among  the 
Cree  and  the  Sauiteanx 
Indiaiu.    Storiea  of  Mi*- 

atOB-      I2IBO,  OOtb,  jI.OO. 


**He  has  a  happy  and 
often  amusingly  qoaint 
way  of  describing  the  2ij- 
cidents  and  surroundings 
of  frontier  life.  His  cheer- 
ful, almost  merry,  temper, 
while  recounting  the  de- 
vices resorted  to  in  endur* 
'ng  or  masteringprlvationa 
and  darigersarestimulating 
and  instructive."—  '/%« 
ffatchman. 


The  Apostle  of  the 
North,  James  £vam» 

With  twenty  lUuatratioM 
by  J.  E.  Laugbiin.  izmo^ 
doth,  ji. 25. 

"A  fresh  theme  U  pre- 
sented here — the  life  of  a 
missionary  in  Upper  Caiv> 
ada,  and  the  northward 
regions  as  far  as  Athabasca. 
Lalce  and  even  beyond. 
Young  people,  usually  not 
attracted  to  missionary 
literature,  will  be  inter- 
ested (n  the  boolc.  It  U 
well  lUuatrated."— 7*« 
Outluk, 


KX7W  VORK  iJBXCAiaO  <3XfROlt!VXO 


The  I^test  FlcnoN 

THE    INSPIKINQ    SORT 


Those  Black  Diamond  Men.  A  Tale 
of  the  Anthrax  Valley.  By  William  F. 
Gibbons.     lUustrat  d.     f  ( .  50. 

"It  U  a  series  of  dnmat  ;  human  scenes,  sometimes  witli 
tlirilling  incidents,  sometimes  of  tragic  intensity,  sometimes 
touclied  witli  liumor," — Ibt  OutUti. 

By  Order  of  the  Prophet.  A  Tale  ot 
the  Occupation  of  the  Great  Salt  Lake 
Basin.  By  Alfred  H.  Henry.  Illus.  $1.50. 

True  to  liistory,  founded  upon  actual  incident,  forceful  in 
the  telling  and  strong  in  the  depiction  of  character,  it  is  a 
worthy  contribution  to  the  literature  of  the  making  of  the  West. 

A  Chinese  Quaker.  An  Unfictitious  Novel. 
By  Nellie  Blessing-Eyster.  Illus.  ^^1.50. 

The  title  of  this  book  is  the  poet-philanthropist  Whittier's 
own  phrase  and  itself  forecasts  a  most  romantic  story — a  record 
literally  unique.  Simply  as  a  novel  it  is  entertaining. 

Two  Wilderness  Voyagers.  A  True 
Story  of  Indian  Life.  By  Franklin  Welles 
Calkins,      izmo,  cloth,  ;^i.5o. 

''This  romance  of  the  Northwest  graphically  depicts  the 
exciting  adventures  of  escape  and  wandering,  the  drama  of  the 
great  wilderness  with  its  storms  and  floods." 

My  Host  the  Enemy,  and  Other  Tales 
of  the  Northwest.  By  Franklin  Welles 
Calkins.  Illustrated,    izmo,  cloth, ;^  1.50. 

*'As  narratives  of  actual  adventure  they  demonstrate  anew 
tne  fact  that  truth  it  certainly  stranger  than  fiction." — Thi 
Outhok. 


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MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER'S 
IDEAL   GIFT   BOOKS 


Janet  Ward.  A  Daughter  of  the  Mante. 
izmo,  cloth,  1^1.50. 

Although  Mrs.  Sanpter  needi  no  introduction  to  thcliterarjr 
world,  it  ii  to  be  noted  that  thii  ii  her  firit  renture  ai  a  noreliit. 
The  intered  of  this  charming  romance  cenlera  in  the  clever  daugh- 
ter of  a  miniiter.  College  life,  work  among  the  MouBtainWhitet 
of  ;Tenne(iee  and  College  Settlement  work  in  New  York  give 
variety  to  the  scenes,  and  large  scop*  for  the  study  of  character- 
istics and  the  portrayal  of  character. 

Winsome  Womanhood.  New  Large 
Paper  Edition  de  Luxe,  with  Illuminated 
Pages  and  many  Extra  Illustrations,  8vo, 

cloth net  ;$  2. 50. 

Popular  Edition,  i2mo,  cloth    .     ^i>z5. 

"It  will  find  the  immediate  approval  of  the  feminine  heart, 
for  upon  each  page  will  be  found  a  dalntv  reproduction  of  article* 
treasured  by  my  lady  when  she  pursues  the  gentler  arts  of  home- 
making." — Outluh, 

"An  exquisite  book,  written  in  the  sweetest  spirit,  out  of  the 
ripeat  wisdom  and  the  tenderest  lore.  It  ought  to  stand  at  the 
rery  head  of  all  Mrs.  Sangstcr's  publications  in  popularity." — Thi 
JnttrlT. 

Lyrics  of  Love  Of  Hearth  and  Home  and 
Field  and  Garden.  Printed  in  two  colors, 
izmo,  decorated  cloth,  net  j^i. 25. 

"The  book  is  in  keeping  with  the  poems,  dainty,  restful  to 
the  eye  and  comfortable  to  hold.  Soft-tinted  paper  and  quiet 
yet  nch  ornamentations  make  it  a  most  attracti/e  gift  book. 
Among  the  best  of  our  living  poets. "'^Jt>/r*n  TraviUr. 


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iiiii! 

A    000  875  ofc     ^ 


